Negative Halo Revised
by CaptainRaspberry
Summary: A revised and rewritten version of my 2003 story that launched an epic tale. Read Oriné 'Fulsamee's original adventure through new eyes...
1. Reveille

**Author's Note:**

So here it is. I've been working on this rewrite for quite some time now (Summer 2008, according to my hard drive), but it's finally ready. For a long time the old writing of _Negative Halo_ annoyed me, partly because I understood so little of the universe and partly because I was so new to writing and didn't grasp a lot of the subtle power of story. This rewrite will also serve to make permanent some retcons I've implemented since _Negative Halo 2_ and that are glaringly apparent in the original _Negative Halo_.

It's been a long time coming. If you're concerned I'm going to forget my roots or try to pretend I was never as bad as I was back in 2003, the original version will remain on my profile for as long as my profile exists, which will be however long I'm allowed to keep it, which depends on how long the website is around... you get the picture. Feel free to compare them chapter by chapter if you like, but I'm hoping you'll like the new one.

Also, since I've been working on it since 2008, I hereby declare I'm not a copycat, regarding 343i's remastered _Halo Anniversary_. They totally heard I was working on this and decided to try and beat me to the punch. Well, in your face, suckers!

**A Note about Canon:**

Canon is tricky, particularly for an ongoing video game series. As you may have noticed (and I know you did, I got a lot of comments about it) some of my info is out of date or otherwise wrong. This is because a lot of the information I have to guess and/or make up to fill in holes in the official story is plot important and can't be changed with a simple revision. The result is that, as canon expands and clarifies, my work - despite my best efforts - suffers some drift from the source.

Some of it I can fix, such as when we learned that the tuning fork-shaped dropship was called the Spirit and up until then I had called it the Apparition, or when we found out the Elites' homeworld was called Sanghelios and not Sangheil as the community overall had guessed. Those were fixed with simple "Find and Replace" commands.

What's less easy to fix is when I've spent years building up an alien culture only to find out that certain critical parts, such as the marriagability of sword-wielding aristocrats or the identity of the Arbiter, don't match up to official canon. I can't very well go and rewrite huge stretches of text to accomodate that update. Instead, I will make a note of the difference in my files as well as a reason for it, and I'll do my level best to highlight the difference in the story.

In conclusion, please be kind when reading my stories, or anyone else's for that matter. I understand I've acquired a kind of reputation for rigidly adhering to established canon, but there's only so much I can do. Time makes fools of us all, and some of us didn't have such a great head start in the "not fools" section anyway.

* * *

><p>Chapter 1: Reveille<p>

The vacuum of space being empty of material in which sound waves could travel, was completely silent. So the arcs of magnetically-guided plasma moved through them without a sound, as did the sleek vessels that unleashed them. Likewise, the metal slugs of the boxier ship were quiet as they moved along a linear trajectory.

The two projectiles passed and the plasma seemed to adjust itself almost to swallow the titanic bullet whole, but stopped as if reconsidering the action; instead it placed itself back on course towards the bulky and unattractive craft. Where it hit, metal boiled and the oxygen inside evacuated, turning to shimmering crystals in the infinite cold.

Finding its own mark, the bullet plunged through a silvery barrier and gutted the Covenant ship, sending it listing.

Explosions, azure and orange, briefly illuminated a series of small tubular craft that slid undetected across the nothing, towards the craft that had fired the offending metal.

Within them each stood eight warriors of the Covenant. They were the faithful followers, loyal and driven soldiers of different species united by their devotion to the Forerunners and the Great Journey. Victorious and unconquerable, they moved through space itself to seek combat against their foes. These _humans _had settled themselves on Forerunner planets, spread themselves across the galaxy and infected each world they came across with their cities that grew like a grey cancer across the surface. They had to be cleansed, to have the surface burned so as to leave nothing alive.

Their crusade was going well. In twenty-seven years, they had destroyed hundreds of worlds and ended billions of these heretics.

Oriné 'Fulsamee was one of the soldiers, and as he waited for his chance to serve the Covenant he was deep in prayer. His faith would protect him, as would the cobalt armor he wore as an Elite Minor and the rifle at his side. Though hunched now, his body was a powerful weapon in its own right. His hooves had trodden on the soil of many worlds, his clawed hands covered in heretic blood, his four mandibles parted in a war cry that made the unfaithful weak and the devoted strong.

Beside him crouched a fellow Sangheili, his armor the deep crimson of an Elite Major. As the iron heart of the Covenant, the Sangheili protected the Prophets, commanded the fleets and armies, and sat on the councils. They were promoted according to their battlefield merit. Major, Tokla 'Gerrolee ranked higher than Oriné, but there were others higher still.

The two Sangheili guided the other occupants in prayer: six Unggoy, diminutive creatures who were little more than slaves within the Covenant, earning them the title "Grunts." They did not breathe oxygen but methane, plentiful on their icy home world. On their backs they wore bulky life support mechanisms that housed a recycling unit. They were less than imposing and many were cowardly. They best traveled in packs, for individually they were easy pickings for their enemies... or even their allies. They too were ranked, but by their usefulness to their masters, and none were near the social or physical stature of an Elite.

The craft rumbled as they drew nearer to the human ship, peppered by weapons fire from the point defense systems, but the Sangheili did not break their concentration. They shifted to the Writ of Union:

_So full of hate were our eyes_

_That none of us could see:_

_Our war would yield countless dead_

_But never victory._

_So let us cast arms aside_

_And like discard our wrath;_

_Thou in faith shall keep us safe_

_Whilst we find the Path._

The Sangheili stood, towering over the five-foot-tall Unggoy.

"We are prepared," said the Major. "We go with the Gods."

Oriné nodded but said nothing. For years he had served under 'Gerrolee as part of Resolute Unit, S'gor Legion, and in that time knew he was devout in his belief of the Covenant, but only a lackluster commander with a taste for stealing glory.

Still, Oriné did not mind. He had already lost so much in pursuit of the Great Journey, what was losing some recognition?

A tremor went through the craft as it made contact with the human cruiser. It had been programmed to enter where the human lifepods were departing so they would not waste time cutting through the hull, all the while vulnerable to attack by the human single ships. The computer on board took a moment to crack the human system, but a moment later the doors slid open and allowed them access.

"Onward!" shouted the Major.

Oriné drew his rifle. He would once more place his life in the hands of the Gods, divine powers that he no longer trusted, but he would not falter in his duty to the Covenant.

* * *

><p>Ship Master Gersha 'Kaeromee shook his head in disdain as he watched another human projectile slam into the <em>Truth and Reconciliation<em>, forcing the cruiser to alter its course. Atmosphere vented from several decks and the engines stuttered, trying to keep the ship from going into a roll. Here and there shield generators flickered while they attempted to bring the protective force-field back online, but too many of them had been damaged to sufficiently cover the ship against more fire. He heard a transmission from the Supreme Commander of the Fleet of Particular Justice ordering _Reconciliation_'s Ship Master to land the damaged craft on the ring, to withdraw from the fight.

Gersha snorted derisively. To be ordered out of combat was incredibly dishonorable. It implied helplessness in the face of the enemy.

The bridge of his own cruiser, the _Winds of Providence_, was devoid of any crew beside himself. It was how Ship Masters operated: they stood on the raised platform deep in the belly of the ship, observing all the data on the battles and the live video feed from outside and ordered the stations that were placed elsewhere in the ship. The humans had a different strategy, one that he had come to appreciate: by grouping all their commanding officers in one place that looked directly out on the battle, a simple strike from a pulse laser could kill the entire ship.

His internal monologue was cut short when a chime resounded through the room. He turned, irritated, towards the source of the noise: one of the four doors leading into the bridge.

"Who goes there?" he barked.

"It's 'Quarmee," declared a Sangheili on the other side of the door. Gersha clicked his mandibles, the equivalent of a shrug, and touched the holographic rune that unlocked the proper door. A fellow Covenant Elite walked through, wearing golden armor that was almost identical to the Ship Master's.

"Ignil," the one on the raised platform said, nodding his head in respect.

"Gersha, how are you?" inquired the Field Commander, stopping at the base of the ramp leading up to the command platform. "Not too tired, I trust? Certainly all this excitement hasn't gotten to you."

Gersha huffed and returned his attention to the monitors, motioning over his shoulder for his friend to join him. "I am not yet weary; the humans are keeping me entertained. And yourself? Has the situation on the ring gotten out of control yet?"

Upon reaching the Ship Master's side, the other Elite cocked his head. "No," he said, confused, "should it have?"

"I anticipate the humans will try to land on the sacred ring," Gersha replied.

Upon one of the monitors was pictured the subject in question: a massive ring-shaped structure floating at the perfect Lagrange point between a gas giant and its moon. The outside betrayed its mechanical truth: machines and generators stood beside marvelous, vast etchings. It glowed faintly silver in the light from the distant sun and, when rotating out of its reach, millions of little lights twinkled and pulsed. However, the inside was what left observers breathless: great oceans, green plains, brown mountains capped with white ice and snow. Valleys and rivers carved their way across what must have been an artificial surface but was too perfect to have been conceived by mortal minds.

"Halo," Ignil 'Quarmee whispered, and muttered a quick prayer under his breath. "Have you informed the Prophet of your assumption?"

The Ship Master shook his head and pointed towards one of the tactical displays, this one showing the icon of the _Truth and Reconciliation _falling back towards the ring. "He knows."

Nodding, the Field Commander turned his attention back to the battle at hand, watching the monitor with the live video feed. He had a hard time reading battle telemetry data and wished to see the fight with his own eyes. The human ship occasionally launched salvos of missiles towards the Covenant vessels but the cruisers merely soaked them up, ignoring them as if they were flies. Here and there were flashes of light where human interceptors engaged in dogfights with the Seraph space fighters. And every so often a wave washed across the screen, briefly highlighting a miniature fleet of boarding craft as they inched towards the human ship.

"What is the name of their ship?" he asked, trying to alleviate the silence.

"_Pillar of Autumn_," Gersha snorted. He was of the opinion that humans hardly deserved a name, let alone their primitive craft. Ignil was quiet for a while after that, contemplating the battle as it continued. After a moment a Covenant cruiser charged its lateral lines and unleashed a hellish blue inferno towards the ship.

"I thought you were forbidden from using plasma torpedoes," said Ignil. "Is not the risk of damaging the ring too great?"

"Technically yes, we are forbidden," the Ship Master admitted, "unless we run the firing solution past the Supreme Commander first. As long as he approves of it, we may fire on these heathens."

The Field Commander watched for a few minutes more until the ship began making drastic adjustments to its course. It seemed as if the Ship Master's theory of their ultimate destination was correct. With the realization that enemy forces were going to be landing, 'Quarmee took his leave from the bridge, excusing himself to the dropship bay where he could return to the surface of Halo in order to prepare his forces.

Gersha remained standing, issuing orders as he watched from afar.

* * *

><p>As the doors parted the group of eight soldiers burst from their boarding craft, the two Elites bellowing the ancient Sangheili war-cry: "Wort wort wort!" Their hoofed feet clapped on the ground as they rushed around a corner, bringing up their rifles and firing at a group of human Marines. Two of the humans fell but the rest returned fire, bullets striking the Elites and sparking on their personal shields; the impacts forced them back around the corner.<p>

The Elite Major looked at Oriné briefly and then back to the Grunts. "Unggoy! On my command, charge and attack those bastard heathens!" The Unggoy cowered, unappreciative of the plan but unable to refuse the orders of their superior. The Major waited until the human firing stopped and then shouted, sending the Grunts rushing around the corner with plasma pistols in their hands and fear in their hearts.

Oriné noticed one of the Grunts was carrying an odd satchel, and immediately he reached out and pulled the creature back from the fight; half a second later a three-round burst cut through the very same spot where he had been standing.

"You, Grunt," the Elite Minor said. "You are the one carrying the grenades?" The diminutive creature nodded rapidly, not wishing to anger one who was both savior and master. "Then remain close to us. Should we run out, I expect you to be quick about giving us more."

The Unggoy thought to mention that the grenades were for everyone in the lance, including the Grunts, but wisely thought better and merely nodded his affirmative. "I'm Rurut," he squeaked out.

Oriné clapped him on the shoulder and stood up, nodding towards the Major as he did so. The two of them jumped out from their cover, followed by Rurut, and began firing. Three of the Grunts had been gunned down and only one Marine, and from the looks of things it was by pure chance. The two Sangheili warriors saw to the quick extermination of the survivors.

"Excellency," Oriné said, walking up to 'Gerrolee, "what is our mission?"

"On this ship is one of the Demons," Tokla replied, idly kicking one of the deceased aliens. "Our assignment is to find it and kill it while it is still in the humans' cryogenic storage."

For a moment, Oriné's hearts stopped beating. The Demons were a very dangerous kind of human, clad only in green armor with a mirrored gold visor. They had shielding equal to that of most Sangheili armor and were proficient with virtually every weapon. There were only supposed to be so many of them, but battlefield rumors cast them as specters of death, capable of ending entire Legions each.

But something had changed during their last engagement, before leaving to pursue this vessel. "Were they not all destroyed on Reach?"

"It is believed that the one on this ship is the only survivor," he growled, glancing down the hallway as he heard gunfire at the other end. "If we catch him while he slumbers, we will be able to dispatch him quickly." He looked back to the Grunts, still recovering from the firefight. "Warriors, onward!"

The lance, now made up of five troops, pushed onward through the ship.

* * *

><p>Captain Jacob Keyes stood on the bridge of the <em>Pillar of Autumn, <em>sighing as he looked out the forward window. Despite his best efforts his ship was slowly getting beaten apart. It was strong, one of the sturdiest in the fleet, but when faced with an entire Covenant armada it amounted to nothing more than a few minutes before absolute annihilation.

His only chance, he knew, was the strange object they had stumbled across. It was a giant ring floating in space, caught between the gravity of the planet, dubbed Threshold by the _Autumn_'s AI, and its moon, Basis. It followed the orbit of the moon exactly. But that wasn't what was truly interesting: the inner surface of the ring looked like a world of its own. There were green and brown continental areas and sparkling blue oceans. A preliminary scan had revealed Earth-normal gravity and an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere; the normal rotation of the ring wasn't quite enough to sustain the gravity, however, which meant there was something else at work.

But for now he had to focus on getting there, and to do that his ship needed to be in one piece. Keyes turned from the window, strode back to the tactical screen, and consulted it for a moment. "Cortana," he said, and a holo-tank sprang to life next to him. A purple-hued image of a woman with short hair appeared, her hands on her hips and her head cocked to one side.

"Yes, Captain?" Her head bobbed, data streams racing across her "skin" at shocking speed.

He glanced at her. "How are our preparations coming along?"

"They're going well," she replied, shifting her position to something appearing relaxed rather than tense. "Alpha through Delta companies are repelling boarders throughout the ship with more success than I had originally calculated; Easy and Foxtrot are defending the vehicle and launch bays. I also have the Helljumpers defending the engine room. The Covenant has so far failed to breach too deep into the ship, but in all honesty it's just a matter of time."

"And our special guest?"

A smirk crossed the AI's face. "He's already up and about sir, just walking off the effects of cryo."

"I want him up here now. We don't have time to dawdle."

Cortana's smirk turned into a frown. "Captain, he needs time to—"

"_Now, _Cortana."

She sighed. "I'll patch you through to cryo-bay two."

A moment later Keyes heard a soft beep. It was his neural-lace confirming that he had been linked to the second cryogenic storage bay. "Bridge to Cryo-2, this is Captain Keyes," he said. "Send the Master Chief to the bridge immediately."

The techie was clearly agitated when he replied. "But sir, we'll have to skip the weapons diagnostics, and I—"

The captain didn't have time to argue. "On the _double_, crewman!"

"Aye-aye, sir," the man replied. The link terminated.

_At least he's awake, _Keyes thought, staring out the forward window again and scratching at his grey crew-cut. _The Covenant will sure have a harder time getting in now._

* * *

><p>"Cover!" Oriné threw himself behind a bulkhead as human rounds flashed by, a few striking the hard surface and shattering on impact. The fragments bounced off his shield, doing no damage. His hand groped along his own waist, finding a grenade and pulling it free. He gave it a squeeze and quickly tossed it, not wanting the weapon to accidentally adhere to his own palm.<p>

A burning ball of sapphire flame arced through the air and fused to a human's helmet. Had it been thinking clearly it could have simply removed the headgear and thrown it aside; instead, however, it panicked and began flailing about and screaming. Its comrades yelled at it, but by then it was too late. The charge exploded, wiping out the entire group.

Sighing in relief, the Elite Minor eased out from behind his cover. Major 'Gerrolee nodded in approval and Rurut waddled up to hand him a replacement grenade.

The Major's head lifted, eyes unfocused, as if he was seeing something that wasn't there. A moment later he raised a hand to the side of his helmet, pressing the radio toggle, and he muttered something Oriné couldn't hear.

"We are going to meet up with another lance," Tokla said after he had finished. "They are not far from here." The team moved on down another of the seemingly endless hallways of the human ship, following the sounds of combat. In another few minutes they found themselves at the site of a pitched battle between a group of humans sheltered behind barricades and Covenant caught in the airlock.

Immediately Oriné's team moved to provide covering fire, allowing the trapped soldiers to move out and get behind better cover. After that it was only a few moments of exchanged fire before, once again, the holy warriors were victorious.

The other lance was haggard, but Oriné immediately recognized the noble figure of one of the Elites. "Yarna!" he called out. The other Elite Minor turned, surprised to hear his name.

"Oriné?" Yarna 'Orgalmee jogged over. "It is you! I had not thought that your ship would give chase after these vile creatures." Oriné's ship had been deploying its troops on the surface of Reach when the Supreme Commander ordered his fleet to follow the _Pillar of Autumn_. Undoubtedly he had hoped the ship would flee to the humans' home world, but where they were was unknown at the moment.

"It is good to see you again," was all Oriné managed to say before the Major called his name. Excusing himself with a nod to his friend, the Elite Minor jogged over to where his commanding officer was standing. He was in the middle of a three-way intersection. On the floor was human cryptography.

"Which way do we go?" the Major growled. "We wish to find the sleeping Demon."

"Yes Excellency." Oriné knelt to inspect the markings. He alone among the group could read the humans' writing. He had learned through self-education. Included with the text on the floor were pictures that helped his translation: he determined that the cryo-bays where they would find their guest were down the left hallway.

The group, now bolstered by the inclusion of Yarna's lance, moved in the proper direction. There was less resistance down this path; either the humans didn't believe it to be strategically important or another squad had already come through here. If the latter was true, then Major 'Gerrolee would be enraged by the slight upon his honor that someone else had accomplished his mission.

A wall of fire was waiting for them when they neared, cutting them off from the bay; through the flames Oriné could see the door that would lead to their target.

"Can we circumvent this inferno?" the Major asked, looking back at Oriné.

"Yes, Excellency, it should be simple. Follow me."

* * *

><p>Esam 'Mijumee allowed himself a brief moment of respite. He leaned back against the stone wall of the valley and gazed up into the sky, a gentle breeze flowing over him. It shocked him how beautiful Halo was, and how peaceful its surface seemed. Rolling plains, snowcapped mountains, sweeping valleys, and endless oceans; it all came together so gloriously. If there was truly a heaven, the Covenant had found it.<p>

For a moment his thoughts turned to his mate, Nero Jum, back on High Charity. She was expected to lay her egg soon, a thought that filled Esam with pride. The Healers had said it would be a son. A _son! _One who could carry on his Lineage, his honor, even his work.

A voice cut through his daydreams. "Esam, why are you away from your station?" The echoing trail of sound led back down the finely carved passage angling deep below the surface. "Is something the matter?" Gradually the voice sounded more and more solid, like glowbugs coalescing on a warm Sanghelios night. A moment later a cobalt-armored head stuck itself out from the passage, two brown eyes resting on Esam's relaxed form.

The Minor Inquisitor rolled his head listlessly to meet the newcomer's stare. "What is it, Esli? Can it not wait? Look," he said, pointing up into the sky, "the clouds take shape. That one looks like a Yorahii and that one is a Ghost chasing it…"

Esli 'Sarodee shook his head. "You dream far too much, my friend. And slack off, too. 'Oegulee is making his rounds. If he finds you away from your station, he will have no—"

"He will have no compunction chopping me up, cooking me, and feeding me to the Kig-Yar. I know." The former flippantly waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "But look at this. The glory of our Lords is all around us! Can you imagine they once walked this very soil?" He stamped his hoof, sending up a small cloud of dirt and dust. "Observe, I have added my footfalls to that of the Forerunners! How incredible is that?"

"Amazing," said Esli with no overflow of enthusiasm. "Can we return to our stations now? I would prefer not to be beaten by the Overseer, even if just for a day."

Grudgingly Esam nodded and shuffled back into the tunnel. The clapping sound of his hooves on the strange metallic stone echoed all around him, but he enjoyed the noise: just a further demonstration of his Lords' abilities. Their subtlety continued to astound him, even so many years after entering the Inquisitor Corps.

Down in the depths things grew understandably darker, but here and there were brightly luminescent Forerunner devices: panels set into the ceiling that provided light; strange sources of illumination peeking out between grates set into the floor and strange boxy constructs that came up from the ground. So far they had found no particular purpose for these miniature buildings, but there they were, defying explanation. That was the sort of thing that put Esam in his element.

He returned to his station and sat down: a mosaic carved with exquisite care clung to the base of one of these boxes. From a nearby equipment dispenser he retrieved a pinpoint scanner and swept it back and forth over sections of the carving, occasionally glancing back at a holographic monitor to make sure he was getting an accurate picture. The scanner measured depth, particle spread, and makeup of whatever it analyzed, and with its current modifications, would put together a gradual perfect reconstruction of the item in question.

Esam had been at this particular mosaic for over two hours before he took his impromptu break and had gotten more than halfway through it. After he was finished he would scan the other sides (the pattern spread all around the base) and take it back to his ramshackle office at camp to further study it. Then he would transmit the data back to the ships in orbit where the Fleet Master would look them over and subsequently send it off to High Charity for proper filing. The entire process could take weeks just for this one find, but with the incredible amount of Inquisitors that had been called in, the entire sector could be properly scanned over the course of a month.

Heavy footfalls sounded nearby, but he ignored them and kept working. They came to a stop directly behind him; he gradually realized that he could hear the individual breathing in his usually cumbrous manner as he leaned down.

"How is work progressing, Inquisitor 'Mijumee?" Overseer 'Oegulee had been placed in charge of this particular expedition, though other Overseers were dotted all throughout Halo. This one, however, was particularly imposing. He was a head taller than most Sangheili, with large, rippling muscles that could easily tear an Unggoy in half, and his crimson armor was shined to immaculate perfection. Not a molecule of filth could touch the harness without him becoming aware of it and ruthlessly punishing whoever he took to be at fault, before retreating to obsessively clean it.

'Oegulee believed that at any moment they could find a living, breathing Forerunner who would look upon his cleanliness and bestow fantastic powers on him for it. Esam believed that 'Oegulee had been dropped frequently while in his egg.

"Work continues apace, Overseer," he replied, not looking up. "It should only be a few more hours before my scan is complete and I can begin analyzing it."

'Oegulee leaned in closer. "No distractions, 'Mijumee? No unsanctioned breaks?"

Esam remained silent, stoically continuing his work.

Finally the Overseer huffed and reared himself to full height. "Your ears!" he cried. All activity ceased in the grand room, 'Oegulee's voice echoing in the cavernous interior. "I have just received word from the Prophet attached to the Fleet of Particular Justice," he continued. "A human ship has just come out of Slipspace nearby. The Supreme Commander believes these heretics may just be desperate and suicidal enough to attempt to land on this sacred ring.

"Thus, His Holiness has asked that we move our timetable up several slots. For now, continue working, but bear in mind we may be evacuated or called to battle at any time. Make sure your sidearm is available in the event we are set upon by the humans. That is all." The crimson-armored Sangheili then stalked off to go hassle a flock of Kig-Yar that was idling by the doorway, hissing and jabbering in their native tongue.

Glumly Esam turned his attention to the equipment dispenser, reaching his hand in and withdrawing his plasma pistol. He had never fired the weapon except for in training, and even then he had never hit anything. A poor shot and a miserable warrior; those were two of the qualities that made him a good Inquisitor. However, as mandated by their duty as soldiers, they had to be willing to fight for the Prophets at any moment.

All Esam could do was exchange a significant glance with Esli, fasten the weapon to its magnetic holster on his hip, and return to work. Hopefully the humans would all be killed before too long, and he could continue his efforts unburdened by the thought of being attacked.

* * *

><p>As Oriné had said, the way to get around the burning area of the ship was simple, if not exactly short. It took another ten minutes of searching in order to find their way into the cryogenic storage bay, ten minutes which made Major 'Gerrolee all the more anxious.<p>

To make matters worse, when their lance finally did make it into the storage bay, it was completely empty. There was not a human to be found, alive or dead. Oriné and Yarna looked towards the Major, but all they could see was the barely-contained rage simmering in his eyes as he stared at one obvious and open casket. The two Elite Minors wisely kept their mouths shut and continued to make a show of searching all the pods, though they already knew their quarry was long departed.

Oriné suddenly felt a chill on the back of his neck. Instinctively he brought a hand up, suspecting tactile contact, but he found nothing. Even the warmth of his hand could not abate the cold feeling. Warily, he turned around and looked up into the control room that overlooked the room, and immediately his hearts leaped into his throat.

"Excellency!" he cried and pointed. There, standing above them and looking down, was the Demon. The descriptions did it no justice. It was taller than any human Oriné had ever seen. Its simple presence clouded Oriné's mind with rage, thoughts of glory… and fear. The Sangheili shook his head in an attempt to ward off the unwanted emotion.

The Major, however, was not so affected. Instead he howled and charged out into the hallway, hoping to find and kill this Demon himself and earn the honor that Oriné had so briefly dreamed. With only a moment's delay he and Yarna bolted out as well, though not nearly so fast as 'Gerrolee. By the time the pair reached the hallway the Major had vanished.

Oriné turned to the Unggoy who had remained in the hall. "Where has he gone?" One of them pointed in one direction down the hallway. Just as he started to head in that direction, however, his communications channel chimed.

"All forces, abandon the human ship," the gruff voice of a senior Sangheili growled. "It is beginning to break up. Repeat, all forces, abandon the human ship." As if to reinforce the point, there was a loud groan and the ceiling caved in two meters in front of Oriné. The ship was beginning to buckle under some fantastic stress.

Realizing he was cut off from the Major, Oriné turned back around. "We must find our way out of this place," he said to Yarna and the Grunts. "Let us go back to the boarding craft!" They quickly made their way away from the hall.

"I shall not miss this ship," Yarna told Oriné as they ran. "Human air is filthy."

* * *

><p>Major Tokla 'Gerrolee believed himself to have set a perfect trap. There were only two more lifeboats remaining on the human ship, and he and a few Unggoy had hunkered down and reinforced the position.<p>

_The Demon must come through this place if it is to escape this vessel_, he told himself, looking back and forth down the two approaches to the pods. And when it did, he would kill it, take its head as a trophy, and escape the ship just in time. He would be revered and pushed up the ranks to a full-fledged Field Master. His name would be sung for generations as a Demon Killer.

The sounds of battle broke him from his daydreaming, and he gazed down the hall to his right. A clutch of Grunts had engaged human survivors attempting to push their way to the lifeboats. _It's here! _Anxiously the Major raised his rifle and aimed it down the corridor.

An innocuous click sounded nearby. Curiously he turned his head and saw, with horror, a human fragmentation grenade landing _behind _him. He screamed a warning to the Unggoy half a second before the device detonated, sending smoke and shrapnel in every direction. The metal shards sliced through the Grunts and totally drained 'Gerrolee's shields, the concussive force of the blast knocking him to the floor. Trying to draw air into his lungs, he turned and let out a hoarse roar just as a hail of 7.62 mm rounds cut through his head.

As the Major's lifeless body slumped to the floor, the Demon stepped out from behind its cover, admiring its handiwork. Kicking one of the limp Grunts to ensure its destruction he jogged towards a lifeboat. Just as he was climbing aboard there was an explosion and a Marine was thrown into the doorway. It picked up the wayward soldier by his pack and threw him into the pod before stepping in and sealing the door.

The Demon had escaped.


	2. Halo

**Author's Note: **Early update this week because I'm going to be gone until the 29th. Also, don't forget to check out the poll in my profile and vote; the next step will be determined by the results. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>Chapter 2: Halo<p>

When the dropship doors fell open, Oriné 'Fulsamee's motions were mechanical and rehearsed. Immediately he barked and gestured for the Unggoy to fall in line, and gave them a quick inspection. One's posture was drooping and another didn't have his weapon at the ready. To each he gave a stern reprimand combined with a verbal threat to set them straight; much to his surprise, however, Rurut, who had followed him after the rendezvous on the ship _Twisted Faith_, was in perfect form.

As the dropship ascended back into the sky, Oriné saw Yarna giving the same riot act to all three of his Grunts. Once he had finished, they jogged over to Oriné's lance, Yarna inhaling deeply.

"This air is fine air," he said, smiling.

"It is the oxygen of the Gods, my friend," Oriné replied. "The Forerunners themselves breathed this wondrous atmosphere while they made their Grand Designs." Yarna nodded, and the pair took a moment to look around. The Sprit had deposited them next to one of several key outposts across the ring, but it was an outpost in name only. In truth, it was a Forerunner structure that the Covenant had commandeered for their purposes, built of the strange and molecularly perfect stone that so frequented their installations and artifacts throughout the universe. It was at once angular and graceful, with two prongs rising out of the top of the structure, reaching for the heavens. A moment later, there was a rushing sound and a blue pulse fired from within. Every so often, it pulsed again. Over the horizon, the Sangheili could see sympathetic energy rising in exact timing with that of this building.

"What is that?" Rurut squeaked.

"I do not know," Oriné replied, unsure of whether to be frightened or in awe.

Besides the structure and its queer energy pulses, the entire area was beautiful. It appeared at all levels to be a livable, inhabitable planet. There was soil beneath his hooves, fresh air in his nostrils, and even a breeze. All sorts of plant life grew and there was even some limited "indigenous" fauna, though it was mostly limited to birds, insects for pollination, and some very small lizard-like animals that liked shade. There was even diffuse sky radiation caused by solar light from a nearby star; the installation itself hovered in the LaGrange point between a planet and its solitary moon.

But the most dominating part of the landscape was the horizon, or lack thereof. As the inhabitable part of the ring was on the inside, Oriné could see clear to the part where the ring began to slant up and steeply arched overhead, coming down behind him for an equally impressive effect. Whenever he looked at it he found himself overcome with a sense of intense reverence and vertigo, a dangerous combination.

However, Oriné was fortunately prevented from further suffering the effect by a call to attention. Immediately he straightened as a Sangheili in golden armor, an Elite Zealot, came into view. When he drew closer, Oriné could see that the markings on his armor gave him the rank of Field Commander. He stood a bit straighter.

The Zealot came to a stop before him and looked over the squad. He huffed. "Are you the only survivors of your squad?"

"No, Excellency," Oriné answered, raising his voice to speak over the hum of another Spirit landing nearby. "We were merely separated from the bulk."

"Is your Major among them?"

Oriné hesitated a moment. "No, Excellency, Major 'Gerrolee was still aboard the human ship when we were given the order to disembark. We believe he is dead."

The Zealot was silent for a moment, but then clicked his lower mandibles, the equivalent of a shrug. "Your names?" The pair recited their names and ranks quickly, but Oriné saw recognition flash in the Field Commander's eyes as he spoke his own name.

"Go inside," the golden-armored Sangheili said. "You have a four hour rest cycle. Use it wisely: eat a ration pack, get some sleep. There is a barracks set up inside. Your Unggoy may recharge their methane tanks within." He made to move on to the newly arrived dropship but didn't take his eyes off of Oriné. "When your cycle has completed, 'Fulsamee, meet me on the top of the structure."

The two Elite Minors affirmed and the Zealot left. As the Unggoy hurried inside to enjoy every second of rest they could, shepherded by Yarna, Oriné stared after the retreating Field Commander. It was odd, he knew, to be so summoned by a warrior of such a higher rank than himself, but it wasn't the first time he was treated beyond his station.

_Regardless, I would be foolish to waste my rest cycle dwelling on such matters_, he decided, turning to go inside. He cast one last glance at this new world around him. Recognition buzzed in the back of his mind, but he still did not understand this ring for what it was.

Not yet.

* * *

><p>Though the privacy of the individual tent was more than most Sangheili were afforded on the battlefield, Esam 'Mijumee rarely found himself appreciating it. At the moment he was so incredibly absorbed in his work, analyzing the mosaic from earlier in the day, that he failed to notice when Esli 'Sarodee pushed aside the plastic flap, said hello, and dragged a chair across the ground to sit nearby.<p>

It wasn't until Esli made an off-color comment about the sleeping habits of the Minor Inquisitor that Esam was finally made aware, quite suddenly, of his friend's presence.

"You startled me," he explained breathily, recomposing himself and the analyzer on the table. Esli gave him a look.

"I take it you have found something interesting, then?"

"Are not all the creations of the great Forerunner worthy of my undivided attention?"

There was the snort of a barely contained laugh. "Were you not the one who spent five minutes looking at an artifact fresh from the front lines and promptly abandoned it in order to find 'better entertainment'?"

Esam huffed. "Perhaps, but that was a common inscription detailing a custom we already have vast records of within the archives. And for those five minutes, the insipid little rock had my attention."

"A Minor Prophet had to be called in to order to force you back to your station."

"But he was quite understanding when I told him of my plight."

"He forced you to take an Oath of Fasting for a week."

The Inquisitor grumbled and turned his attention back to the scanner. There was a minute or two of silence before Esli spoke up again: "The human ship came down while we were in the cavern."

Esam's head perked up. "Is that what that sound was?"

"What sound?"

"I was outside—scouting for other entrances, you see—and I heard a terrible booming noise. I had thought it was another Scarab malfunction."

Esli shook his head. "The Prophet has decreed all Scarabs be removed from the ring. He does not wish one's tunneling laser to accidentally damage some fragile array buried beneath the ground. The only way we are going subterranean is by using a pre-existing passage."

The Inquisitor could agree with that. It was too risky using one of the behemoth mining machines for something as delicate as an excavation of such a holy relic. Somewhere within this installation was the secret to begin the Great Journey.

When the Fleet of Burning Judgment stumbled across Halo during a routine scouting mission, one of the first things accomplished was a thorough seismic scan. Before even the first Cleric had dared set a foot on such revered ground, the Inquisitors had known that beneath Halo's sublime surface was a network of tunnels and unimaginably complex machinery. Several hotspots had been isolated as potential energy generators, perhaps the key to the Great Journey or the mythical "weapon" said to be stored on the holy rings. So far, although several teams had been delegated to locate the control room for these generators, their purpose had not yet been confirmed. It was all random speculation, and particularly random for the higher ranks. Esam was just supposed to continue with his interpretation work, which suited him just fine. It was an area he was intimately familiar with.

"Take a look at this," he said, moving aside and gesturing for Esli to take his place.

The other Sangheili looked into the analyzer and hummed. "A sun surrounded by seven rings and with a glyph in the middle." He pursed his mandibles as he pulled his head up. "I don't recognize the marker, but the sun is representative of life, is it not?"

"It is," Esam agreed, "but it's also known for other connotations, specifically destruction." The Forerunner had established their hieroglyphics on multiple levels, including the spiritual and pragmatic. A symbol like the sun represented life spiritually, as only habitable planets could be found circling stars of certain characteristics; likewise, it could mean destruction from a practical point of view, as a star was composed of burning gases held at crushing degrees of pressure. There were still other interpretations as well.

"But the symbol," he muttered, "I'm unfamiliar with it. It has reminiscent characteristics of the glyph for 'catastrophe,' but the detail on the inside suggests something more leeching and gradual than sudden and terrible."

Esli leaned back. "Is there any precedent of similarity to draw upon?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Esam answered, which decidedly meant "no." He had graduated top of his class in cryptography and the history of cryptography; even Major Inquisitors came to him when they needed assistance deciphering particularly daunting mosaics. "However, it certainly speaks to me of a warning. I suppose I'll need to translate further to understand it."

"Well, be quick about it," Esli said, standing and stretching. "Night is already falling here and the Overseer wishes to move on to a new site tomorrow."

"But we have hardly finished with this one! Surely no one has finished their interpretations yet."

The Sangheili shrugged. "He has promised us time to continue working on them, but wishes to finish cataloguing as swiftly as possible. Word has it that some humans have survived the crash and have begun to interfere with our work here on the ring."

Conceding the point, Esam bid goodnight to his friend and turned back to the analyzer one more time. It still rested on the unknown glyph. _A leeching catastrophe, a warning_, he thought. Drumming his fingers on the counter for a moment, he logged the meaning as "parasite" and deactivated his Lumidex, vowing to fix it later. It was time for sleep.

* * *

><p>When Oriné emerged onto the upper platform of the structure, he noted that the sun had begun to "set" on this part of the ring. The sky was aflame, giving him conflicting feelings of alarm at the idea and calm at the sight. It was quite lovely, and reflected neatly off the golden armor of the Elite Zealot who stood at the edge. Quietly approaching, not wishing to disturb any private thoughts the Field Commander might be nursing, Oriné stopped a pace behind the Sangheili. From where he stood, he saw that sentries patrolled the forest surrounding the base while a handful of Unggoy struggled to set up work lights around and throughout the perimeter.<p>

After a moment, the Zealot spoke: "What is your relation to Orna 'Fulsamee?"

Slightly startled, Oriné recomposed himself. Everyone seemed to know of his brother. "I am his younger brother, Excellency."

"He is quite skilled."

"Yes, Excellency, my Lineage was truly blessed by his achievements." He paused. "Do you... have news of him?"

The Zealot turned his head to look at the young Sangheili, an odd look in his eyes. "What is the last of him you heard?"

"That he had become a Supreme Commander. The news brought great elation to my mother and father during a time of great hardship, but I have heard nothing more on the subject since. I don't know where he is."

Nodding, the Field Commander turned back to the view. The sun was halfway below the horizon; the work lights came on, illuminating the area in harsh white light. "Do not fear for him. He is quite an able commander and will be safe. He may save us all one day." Oriné was unsure how to reply. The silence persisted for a while longer until the Zealot again spoke: "What was your mission aboard the human ship?"

"Excellency," Oriné began, "our mission was to locate and neutralize one of the human Demons. Most of them were destroyed in combat on the world Reach, but we had intelligence that one escaped to that ship. Major 'Gerrolee's lance was tasked with finding the cryogenic storage bay and killing it while it slept."

The Zealot turned on his heel suddenly and quickly, catching Oriné by surprise. His eyes blazed in the coming night, but not with fury. "We have had several reports of this Demon being active on Halo, engaging our forces in hit-and-run operations, rescuing the humans and bringing them to a base of theirs that they took from us. How did you fail in your mission?"

Oriné's mandibles worked to find an answer, but none was immediately forthcoming. He hadn't dwelt much on the idea of what went wrong. "I suppose," he began uncertainly, "that our plan depended on it not being deployed. We believed—wrongly, it seems—that the humans would use the Demon only as a last-ditch effort. That oversight cost us the mission, and Major 'Gerrolee his life." He bowed his head. "I am deeply ashamed, Excellency. Please, if you wish to punish me..."

"Punish you?" When he looked up, Oriné saw a sly and amused grin on the Field Commander's face. "That is a good tactical analysis of both your mission and your shortcomings. I am proud that you would accept responsibility for that failure, but the fault lies in the planning, not in the execution. Had our intelligence been correct, the Demon would be slain."

Reassured, Oriné resumed his more confident posture. The Zealot nodded. "The humans have become scattered across Halo, separated but far from beaten. Aside from the guerilla tactics of the Demon, there have been many strikes against our outposts across the ring. Most have been simple harassment or supply seizures, but a few have been hindering, especially attacks on Inquisitor forces already dispersed."

Oriné cocked his head. "Inquisitors, Excellency?"

"Yes," the Zealot replied, "the Fleet of Particular Justice was not the first here; only a few days ago, the Fleet of Burning Judgment came across this place. This is one of the sacred rings, those spoken of in the Divinidex."

Shock leaped into the Elite Minor's mind. _This _was one of the sacred rings? One of the _true_ Halos? He could not believe he had not recognized it for what it was. Unbidden, the passage surfaced in his thoughts and shoved its way through his mandibles:

_What hope has this alliance_

_If we cannot conquer_

_Doubt of faith, not each other—_

_If our belief should falter?_

_But put an ear to the stones_

_Of this Holy City_

_Inside their voices echo still—_

"_Seven rings begin the Journey!"_

The Field Commander echoed the last line and chuckled. "I could not believe it myself. I had never believed we may come before the brink of the Great Journey in my life time, but it seems I was mistaken. As were we all."

So many thoughts and emotions collided in Oriné's mind that he could not think straight. All he could manage was to ask: "What's our assignment, Excellency?"

"Because the Inquisitors must do their holy work, protecting them is our top priority. I am dispatching your lance, under your command, to the cruiser _Truth and Reconciliation_. She took heavy damage in the battle above the ring and was forced to land for repairs, but is now the headquarters for Inquisition forces across Halo. You will go there, be attached to an Inquisition team, and serve as part of their guardian force."

Oriné affirmed his orders and received his departure details: a group of Spirits would be delivering supplies to assist with the repair. His lance would board one and ride in with the rest of the regular work force. The flight would be leaving soon, so he had to quickly brief and arm his teammates.

As he went, however, all he could hear was a single thought, one voice shouting into the void:

_Sister, you were wrong._

* * *

><p>A small, private office had been prepared inside the base for Field Commander Ignil 'Quarmee. A desk with full holographic capability and a gravity chair had been moved in for his convenience, and it was at this desk he sat, working on a report to send to the Prophet. His talk with young Oriné 'Fulsamee had been interesting, but there was much work to be done.<p>

Occasionally, however, he looked up and allowed himself to be distracted by the room in which he was situated. It was, like most Forerunner installations, a very pale grey with intricate markings all over the walls, ceilings, and floors. Two grates, about thirty centimeters across, ran all the way around the room, behind which a white light shone, giving him adequate illumination, soft in its indirectness. His eyes traced all the details, drinking them in; he had been told the Inquisitors had already mapped the room, so it was of little consequence if he decided to cover any of the walls up with personal decoration, but he couldn't bear to do it. He only allowed the desk and chair. No trophies.

Calm chiming interrupted his thoughts, and he realized it was coming from the door. Engaging the holographic desk, 'Quarmee saw that an armored Sangheili was waiting patiently outside. The hologram was blue-tinted, but the Field Commander knew who it was; he had been expecting him.

"Enter," he called out, and the Elite in the hologram stepped forward and the door slid open. 'Quarmee turned off the image and sat straighter in his chair as the black-armored Operative walked up to his desk and gave a slight bow.

"Field Commander," said the dark, muscular Sangheili, "I thank you for taking the time to meet with me."

'Quarmee did not get up. "You were quite insistent on this conference. I assume you wish to get to the matter quickly?" The Operative looked at him, eyes flashing. The Field Commander was being very brash by dismissing the usual formalities of such a meeting. The Operative straightened and clicked his mandibles.

"Very well," he said. "In order to further increase the likelihood of finding the means with which to activate the Sacred Ring and begin the Great Journey, the Prophet has ordered additional Special Operations personnel be deployed on Halo."

The Field Commander frowned. He had been attached to the Fleet of Burning Judgment, an Inquisitorial force, by the High Council of Masters. Though announced as a routine scouting mission, the Councilors had made it clear to all Zealot-ranked Elites that this expedition had another purpose: to gain the favor of the Hierarchs for their race and thus condemn the Jiralhanae.

It was no secret that the Brutes had been gaining more and more favor with the High Prophets, and the Elites were beginning to feel the pressure. It was up to them to find a way to curry support, and having found Halo, the sacred ring, 'Quarmee knew they could have done little better.

Unfortunately, a human ship pursued by the Fleet of Particular Justice had bumbled into them, and not only had the Supreme Commander taken control of the limited naval forces available to them but suddenly the Lesser Prophet, who had been accompanying him, felt as if he were in charge of the Inquisitors and all their data. It was only a matter of time before he began to take credit for all their findings, toning down the crucial involvement of the Sangheili and distorting the reports to the Hierarchs.

Still, the military's meddlesome involvement was beginning to give 'Quarmee a headache. "You do not need my permission to deploy more units," the Field Commander said, fighting the urge to massage his temples. "The realm of Special Operations falls out of my jurisdiction."

"Commander 'Vadumee has an issue with the Prophet's orders," the Operative continued. "There are no reserve Special Operations units available, as most ships remained behind around the human world Reach to assist with its destruction. We are also missing a great deal of equipment. Here"—he drew a previously unnoticed Lumidex from the back of his belt and placed it on the desk—"is a list of materials and personnel we require."

Picking up the handheld unit, 'Quarmee looked over it with a critical eye. "You ask for many things, warrior. Carbines, beam rifles, Spectres... the list goes on, and then you ask for the ability to remove soldiers from my command and transfer them to 'Vadumee's control?"

The Operative nodded. "We have armor enough for several more lances, and 'Vadumee has split up most of the intact units to act as instructors. As for the equipment, we are severely lacking in these things, as they are..."

"Deployed against the humans on Reach," 'Quarmee finished. He sighed, set the Lumidex aside, and steepled his fingers on the desk. "I'm afraid I have disappointing news for you, warrior. There are not many regular Infantry soldiers in this fleet, as we are largely an Inquisitorial force and none of the Inquisitors can be conscripted. Your warriors will have to come from Particular Justice, instead. In addition, we have none of the equipment or vehicles you ask for."

At this, the Operative looked dubious. "None of it?"

Picking up the Lumidex, 'Quarmee began going down the list. "Carbines and beam rifles are infantry weapons, and as I said, Burning Judgment in an Inquisitor fleet. We limit ourselves to plasma rifles and pistols for their lighter weight. And why would we carry Fuel Rod Guns if our objective is to study, not destroy? Sniper towers are also on that list, though we do have a few but they are currently deployed. In addition, the Needler rifle variant was deemed unnecessary, as the pistol version works just as well."

He scrolled on. "Gravity pitons, empowered batteries for simultaneous shielding and camouflage, atmospherically sealed helmets? These are Special Operations equipment, and we do not carry them. For vehicles we have Ghosts and Shadows, though the local terrain prevents the troop transports from being at all effective. We do not have Spectres; we do not even have Chimeras. And Phantoms? Before we left on this mission, even the conversion of the civilian model was not yet available." He slid the Lumidex towards the Operative. "It is my understanding that the Fleet of Particular Justice has several fully stocked armories and vehicle depots. Have you ever considered asking your own people for the materials you seek?"

Clearly the black-armored Elite was agitated, but 'Quarmee maintained his pressing stare. "We queried our own stores before coming to you, Field Commander," the Operative began, "and we are as lacking as you. The vehicle depots contain only Ghosts, Wraiths, and Banshees; the fleet did not take on troop vehicles as it did not expect this sort of action. Most of the ships with Special Operations equipment remained behind." He took a deep breath. "And though you do not have a dedicated infantry unit under your command at this time, you are in charge of all infantry in this sector."

"When a ranking Field Master is absent, yes."

"Therefore I must at least demand you allow me to observe the infantry and choose who among them to train for Special Operations."

'Quarmee thought about it for a moment. They were not truly his soldiers, so why should he care? The quick answer was that he didn't. "Very well. Do as you wish, warrior, but do not trouble again to ask for this equipment. I do not have it, nor does any other Zealot."

The Operative bowed and retrieved his Lumidex. As he turned to leave, however, there was an urgent beeping from the desk. Overcome with curiosity, the dark Sangheili remained while 'Quarmee silenced the alarm and examined the priority message that had just been transmitted over the Battle Net. When he read it, he involuntarily and loudly sucked in air between his mandibles.

"By the Prophets," he hissed.

* * *

><p>The Spirit dropship sailed silently through the night air. Within, Oriné and his comrades looked out of the slots at the dark landscape, illuminated faintly by the light of the gas giant's moon. However, when the craft banked for a turn, Oriné could see the retreating form of Halo and the illuminated part of the ring up ahead; he figured some of the light was generated by that reflection.<p>

Rurut the Grunt was in the troop slot next to his. Oriné glanced over and saw him fidgeting uncomfortably. The Sangheili reached over and tapped the metal above the Unggoy's head, making him twitch suddenly and look at his superior.

"Is something wrong?" Oriné asked. "Do the magnets hold you too tight?"

"Thank you for your concern, Excellency, I am unworthy," the small alien replied. "I merely... have a feeling, that's all."

"A feeling?"

"Yes," Rurut replied, eyes focused on the inner hull. "I feel that something horrible is going to happen very soon... or perhaps already has."

Before Oriné could query further, a chime sounded in his helmet. Reaching up a hand to key in, he realized it was a broadcast across the entire ship. "Warriors," said the pilot, "we will be forced to adjust our course and land on the ground near the _Truth and Reconciliation_."

There was silence as Oriné waited for his commanding officer to respond, but with a start he realized he was the ranking Sangheili present. Clearing his throat he touched his radio. "For what reason?"

"The ship has been attacked by the humans. Information is very panicked and poorly sorted, but from the sound of it they were able to cause immense damage to the hangar bays." The pilot paused. "An approach vector taking us down near the gravity lift has been approved. Standby for deployment."

It was several minutes before the ship touched down. When the doors opened, Oriné and his lance jumped out, weapons held at the ready. There was no telling what might have been waiting for them, but when their eyes settled on the scene around them they realized they had expected everything but this.

Everywhere there was blood. Having been on several battlefields, Oriné expected no less; but here, beneath the belly of one of the Covenant's own cruisers, it was extensive. Spotlights illuminated pools of violet, the lifeblood of Sangheili warriors, trickling down inclines and soaking into the dirt. He fought hard against the image of such liquid nourishing insects and plant-life, but couldn't force the picture from his mind. Even then the gore of his species was not the most prevalent: iridescent blue blood seemed to smear every rock and tree, spattered across walls and equipment with abandon. Dark purple blood of the Kig-Yar, differentiated from the Sangheili by smell alone, mixed with its caste equal indiscriminately. And, much to the Elite Minor's surprise, around the base of the gravity lift was the unmistakable orange blood of Lekgolo, the Covenant's mighty Hunters.

But only here and there was the distinctive crimson blood of humans.

All around, soldiers had apparently been tasked with cleanup. Jackals and Grunts heaped bodies together with little care for dignity or honor. Most species were clumped together, but a separate pile had been set aside for Elites; beyond that, there was no special care involved. Yarna growled and moved to berate a nearby Kig-Yar worker for his lack of respect, but Oriné caught his eye and shook his head. There were more important things to focus on.

As they descended the slope towards the gravity lift, the unit caught sight of something unprecedented: a team of Unggoy was struggling to move a deceased pair of Hunters. The massive creatures in blue armor were, in truth, conglomerations of eel-like worms called Lekgolo that shared neural pathways and could build themselves into whatever form was needed for the Covenant. The only two forms Oriné had ever experienced were the Hunter and Scarab gestalts, both expertly suited for combat, but he had been told others existed on the Lekgolo home world Te. As some Grunts tried to deconstruct the armor, others used small prods to deliver mild electric shocks to the expired worms, forcing them to slide apart.

Once they reached the lift, they were stopped by a flippant Unggoy in silver armor. He spoke without honorifics, and at first Oriné was vexed: Grunts were little more than slaves and cannon fodder in the Covenant, and though he disliked titles he knew their purpose was to promote the proper respect among the ranks.

But the silver armor made any lecture he could give die in his throat. This was a Grunt Ultra, an Operative of the Prophet Blessed. Oriné technically outclassed him socially, but as far as rank went he had to comply.

"Are you part of the work force?" The Unggoy sniffled behind his breather.

"No," Oriné said. "We are infantry, from Particular Justice. We were transferred here to begin an assignment guarding Inquisitors."

The small alien consulted a Lumidex in his hand. "What sector?"

"Our last location was Outpost Eleven-Four."

"You were under Field Commander 'Quarmee, then," the Unggoy muttered before turning his eyes up to Oriné again. "Your orders have been countermanded. Under the authority of the Ship Commander, you and your lance are to join other infantry units in conducting a section-by-section search of the cruiser, looking for any humans or traps still aboard."

"The Ship Commander? What of the Ship Master?"

"He was killed in the attack."

The rest of Oriné's lance fell into file, preparing to ascend the gravity lift. Oriné hesitated for a moment. "How did this attack come to happen?"

"We are still investigating," the Unggoy said, "but so far it appears that the humans' objective was to rescue their Ship Master, whom we captured shortly after their ship crashed on the ring."

The Elite Minor glanced around. "Humans did all this?"

A dangerous glint appeared in the Grunt Ultra's eyes. "They had a Demon with them."

* * *

><p>The news of the assault against the <em>Truth and Reconciliation <em>spread through the fleet like wildfire. That the humans had been able to recover from their impromptu landing and then attack a well-defended Covenant cruiser with minimal loss of life would have been amazing enough, but the fact that these two events had happened _within a day_ was enough to throw most of the higher echelons of command into an uproar.

As Operative Ionill 'Ongyomee walked the corridors and surveyed the damage caused by the humans, he wondered just how badly the Covenant had underestimated them, and once again he wished that he had better equipment and more Special Operations personnel to utilize.

Corridors torn apart by plasma, bullets, and explosions spoke volumes of the brutal style of the infantry, the lack of finesse they used. Had better weapons been available, he thought, the collateral damage could have been reduced. For example, the Carbine was deadly accurate and powerful without leaving the unsightly burns that now criss-crossed the hallway. However, the few Carbines available to the fleet had all been requisitioned by the Lesser Prophet's Honor Guard, stating that exact reason as to why they required them to protect the Holy One.

Ionill stopped to admire a series of ragged Needler punctures in the wall before continuing on his way.

Commander 'Vadumee had radioed the Operative just a few moments after the bulletin went out about the _Reconciliation_. The Elite Ultra assigned Ionill to the ship in order to oversee the security sweep and use it as a base of operations for training the new Special Operations units. Other Operatives had been sent here as well; it was clear the surviving crew was uncomfortable with so many of the Prophet Blessed walking around. They were renowned for their fanaticism and devotion to duty, something that made the Kig-Yar flinch whenever 'Ongyomee happened to pass by. Such things gave him a small, guilty amount of satisfaction.

His quarters were only a short walk from his current location, and when he arrived at the door he found it unlocked and the bed and desk already prepared. Much like Commander 'Quarmee's desk, the entire surface was a Lumidex, and Ionill found his mission details already uploaded and blinking, awaiting his confirmation. He bade the door close and lock, and then regarded the missive in secrecy.

The Inquisitorial forces already present had made significant headway in their short time on the ring and had narrowed down the surface into several areas of interest, possibly pertaining to the control room where the Great Journey could begin. Knowing their prowess and efficiency, the Prophet decreed that Special Operations teams be dispatched to each location to assess them and secure any information that could lead to Halo's activation.

Unfortunately, that had been the only wise thing decreed by His Holiness so far. His next action had been to break up most of the handful of already existing Special Operations units so that those Operatives could act as instructors; his reasoning had been that little combat would require their attention, so only a few units needed to be left intact. The corollary of this was that, as the tasks did not require combat, the Special Operations units to be formed from the regular infantry didn't need the same exhaustive training regime as most Operatives.

The Prophet was somehow under the illusion that with only a few days' training and new black armor, standard troops could suddenly become hardened Operatives. Ionill recalled with mixed feelings of nostalgia and revulsion his own education at a war college: weeks spent in the field, learning the art of disappearing, the difficulty of suppressing the values of honor that had been instilled in him since birth. He remembered with unnecessary clarity the torture training, when he was held in place by crude but strong bonds and tested for his endurance, then pushed beyond the limit. His instructors would starve him, beat him, force him to run obstacle courses while flawlessly reciting word-for-word the Divinidex. Live-fire combat training was standard, and the accidents therein were considered learning experiences. By the end, he knew exactly how long his shields, his armor, his flesh would last under sustained fire from all known weapons, and he knew by heart where each piece of equipment was on his combat harness, and where any piece of equipment he didn't have standard _would _go when he used it. He had suffered from so much anxiety and stress while training that, when it came time for his first mission and real humans were shooting at him, the experience was almost enjoyable.

Somehow the Prophet expected him to be able to instill those experiences into a group of newcomers in only a few days. It was an impossible task. Every few moments Ionill found himself hoping that an Inquisitor out in the field would just find the "Deify All" button and push it, ending this torment.

Settling himself in a chair provided to him, the Operative began cycling through the exhaustive list of infantry candidates. No one had seen fit to run a standard screening process, so he (and all the other recruiters) faced the entire catalog of troops in the fleet. As he worked he kept a text-only Battle Net channel open to the other Operatives engaged in this task, swapping notes and names as each reviewed the cases available.

After several hours of work, mind-numbing evaluation sometimes punctuated by bitter quips with peers and the occasional refreshment brought to him by a Grunt, Ionill had sifted through hundreds of service dossiers of Sangheili and Unggoy; Kig-Yar he had discounted immediately for being too bloodthirsty to be effective, and Lekgolo for obvious reasons. He marked the names of those he thought could fit well into the service for follow-up evaluation; later, he and the other recruiters would meet and discuss their potential candidates, deciding who among their lists of qualified warriors would be further screened.

He was close to finishing when he came upon one of the remaining Sangheili he hadn't yet decided on: Oriné 'Fulsamee. Quickly scanning over the Elite Minor's achievement record, he noticed that the young Sangheili had been on the front for a few years already without any rumblings of promotion, and thus almost dismissed him immediately. Just before sending the name into the "Unfit for Service" group, however, he caught sight of the marks of honor the warrior had earned and stayed his hand.

Young 'Fulsamee, it seemed, had earned a high honor marking within his first month of service, one equated with saving the life of someone vastly superior in rank to himself. Apparently the rescued party, a Zealot-level commander, had recommended 'Fulsamee for advancement to Elite Major the next day, but it had been silenced quickly by a communication sent from the Head Master of Institution, the deep-space war college open only to Sangheili who were considered of high quality.

Now Ionill was intrigued. He opened the full dossier of 'Fulsamee's career and found himself immersed in a story of disappointment, heresy, and passion. Aside from being sentenced to gulag duty following his affair with the Head Master's daughter, 'Fulsamee had apparently distinguished himself in combat on three separate worlds. Another movement for advancement, this time pushed by Major Olah 'Seroumee, was again stopped dead in its tracks when 'Fulsamee's twin sister was found guilty of heresy and the Lineage lost its honor. Oriné had spent the last few years fighting on several fronts with only one shore leave to speak of.

_So motivated to restore his family's honor that he disregards personal advancement to gain it back? _The Operative was shocked. Such behavior was rare in the infantry. The list of combat merits the young warrior's peers had filed was quite long, many times citing Resolute Unit's victory having hinged on his performance. And yet one Major Tokla 'Gerrolee hadn't mentioned a word of it to his superiors. _It is warriors such as that who prevent the ascension of those truly_ _worthy._

'Fulsamee seemed an obvious choice. After a quick exchange of comments, Ionill learned that of the Operatives currently reviewing data, only four had bothered to look into the Elite Minor's history, but all of those who did had approved the warrior.

Now he need only be tested.


	3. Special Operations

Chapter 3: Special Operations

The night was long for Oriné 'Fulsamee and the rest of his unit. Deck by deck they scoured the entire cruiser, looking for any sign of human treachery: bombs, mines, traps, anything. A few times an alert had gone out and all nearby warriors had ceased their search and rushed to aid another unit, but each time was a false occurrence, after which they had to find their way back to where they were and begin again the mind-numbing investigation.

Dawn found the end of the search, revealing that there were no human remnants left behind, nor traps laid for unsuspecting warriors, nor sinister sabotage of vital systems. Oriné tried not to think of all the time wasted going from room to room for nearly a hundred decks, instead focusing on the positive. Because of the general chaos surrounding the infiltration the Elite Minor had managed to seize a bunk for himself and Yarna, as well as reserve space in a methane dormitories for his Unggoy. Once dismissed from their searching duties, Oriné and Yarna settled into their bunks in a room shared with several other Sangheili.

"So tedious," Yarna groaned, laying back in the gel supports.

"And all for nothing." Oriné was already down, helmet and mandible guards removed and stowed. So long as the ship remained on active alert all warriors were required to sleep in their armor so that the instant the ship came under attack again the defenders would be ready in seconds as opposed to minutes. And the Ship Commander had made it clear that after this incursion he had no intention of stepping down the alert level.

_But what's the point? _Oriné thought to himself as he sank his unarmored head into the comforting pads near his head. _If the Demon is with them, then we are all doomed to death. _Few Sangheili had ever crossed paths with a Demon and lived; only six had ever managed to kill one with confirmation, and each had been promoted away from the battlefield. When asked, though they boasted highly of their own skill, they had all admitted to a great deal of luck, either in numbers or circumstance.

These thoughts led Oriné off into a light slumber, but it was too soon when he was awakened. An Unggoy, not of his unit, was shaking his arm. "Excellency," he said quietly, clearly not wanting to wake Yarna, "the commander wishes to speak with you."

"Who?" The Elite Minor cleared his bleary eyes and looked again, this time taking note that the Grunt was dressed in black Special Operations armor. Grumbling an affirmative, he stood and fastened his helmet and mandibles guards back on his harness. "Lead the way."

* * *

><p>Esam 'Mijumee disliked Spirits intensely. He was confined to a small compartment while in flight, and there was not enough room for his equipment. The only thing he carried with him was his pistol on one hip and his Lumidex on the other; everything else was on a different dropship.<p>

He gazed out the viewing slot, bored beyond comprehension. He had heard a new, roomier model of dropship called a Phantom was already in use on the front lines. If only they had been able to resupply before finding Halo...

The ship rocked as it hit an air pocket, jostling the Inquisitor in his cell. He growled his discontent, but there was no response. None of the others were feeling particularly talkative, themselves having also been pulled from their work for this reassignment. Everything had been going according to plan until the Fleet of Particular Justice had happened on them, and now their carefully plotted timetable had been cast into disarray. The newly arrived Prophet wanted to know everything and soon, so he could cast himself in a fine light to the Hierarchs, perhaps even gain advancement.

Blasphemy touched his mind, but Esam cast it off. Though he worshipped the Forerunners and understood the importance of the Prophets, the greed and short-sightedness they often exhibited was by far too corporeal for him to respect it.

_At least this new fleet contains no Jiralhanae_, he thought, taking the edge off his anger. _If there had been an accompanying force, there would be much more dire consequences._ The Zealots thought they had fooled the Inquisitors, but in truth no one knew the situation better than they. The Council wanted leverage against the rising Brute tide, something to cement their position and keep them from being replaced. At one time such substitution would have been impossible even to think of, but the favoritism of the High Prophet of Truth for the Jiralhanae was hard to ignore.

Esam was just a tool of politics that were far above his station and trillions of miles away. He grew anxious thinking about his mate, carrying their egg with his unborn son, trapped on High Charity where assassinations, political revenge, and hate-motivated killings were becoming increasingly common.

He hoped they would be all right.

"Prepare for landing," said the Overseer over the Battle Net. Esam heard the infantry accompanying them preparing their weapons; he only placed his hand on the plasma pistol at his side.

Moments later the doors opened, and the Inquisitor Minor allowed the infantry to disembark first, sweeping the thick, swampy forest with their weapons. When it seemed clear, he stepped down and found himself ankle-deep in dark, opaque water.

He looked around. The morning sun poked through the trees, casting columns of light across the forest floor. It was a very wet climate, though, and even with the sunlight it felt oppressively damp. Fortunately, according to the Overseer's briefing, their work was to be done inside a nearby structure, so Esam wouldn't have to suffer the elements; Forerunner spaces tended to be very climate-friendly, though cooler than any Sangheili preferred.

The Spirit lifted off behind him, making room in the small landing zone for the other dropships. Next to come down was the vessel carrying Overseer 'Oegulee, other Inquisitors, and some of the equipment. "Begin transporting the devices inside," ordered the Inquisitor Major. "There is an incoming weather system we should be mindful of. It should not arrive until tomorrow, but we must take care."

A few of the Grunts that had come with the infantry were requisitioned to help carry, but largely the Inquisitors did the work. It was a short distance to the site, but the crates seemed extra heavy, so the work was strenuous. As he went, Esam thought about the incoming storm. It was incredible to him that the Forerunners were able to create something so perfect that mimicked the natural order of the universe. Nothing was ever static, everything always moved through a cycle. Halo, its ring shape forever rotating in the cosmos, was the ultimate microcosm of the rest of existence. That they made this was all the evidence Esam ever needed of their divinity, and of the virtue of following the path they had laid with their feet.

By the time they reached the site, many of the Inquisitors were breathing heavily and sagging under the weight in their arms, including Esam. It didn't make sense: he had carried even the heaviest equipment crates with more ease than this. All of the Inquisitors were fully trained Elites, and had hauled their own devices back and forth across many worlds. Why was it so difficult this time?

The Overseer, walking ahead, guided them down the slanted walkway towards a large hole in the floor. He manipulated a nearby set of holographic controls, and a moment later a large elevator platform rose to the surface.

"Everyone get on board," he said in his gravelly tones that brooked no resistance. "Our area of study is deep below the surface."

Such a thing was not unusual. Many Forerunner artifacts were located below ground, buried in sacred temples or shrines. Gladly relieving himself of the burden, Esam chose to spend the ride down checking his Lumidex for the mission data. According to the file that had been uploaded to the local Battle Net, this had been one of the hotspots highlighted by their original surveys as a possible point of interest. They had been able to track massive power systems in this area and traced their output to this structure, though what the purpose was of such systems went far over their heads. This would be one of their objectives: to identify the drain and see if it was a beacon on the road to the Great Journey.

The lift came to a stop, and 'Oegulee ordered everyone carry their equipment off and set it aside. Barely managing to drag his crate to the wall, Esam was overcome with curiosity. What made these crates so unwieldy? Glancing over his shoulder to see who was watching, he tapped in the code to open the container. The top slid off, and the Inquisitor stared in shock.

Plasma rifles, Needlers, grenades, and battery packs filled the crate. Some of the Inquisitorial equipment was inside, but it had been pushed to the side and rearranged to make room for weapons.

"By the Prophets," he swore.

"Inquisitor 'Mijumee!"

Esam looked up. The Overseer was stalking over, a murderous look in his eye, but the Inquisitor Minor had no intention of backing down. Still, a chill passed over his spine. "Overseer, what is the meaning of this?" he asked as 'Oegulee came to a stop inches from his face. "We are trying to conduct our research and you—"

"_I _am following orders from the highest authority," said 'Oegulee.

"But _weapons?_ What would Commander 'Quarmee want with weapons being stored here?"

The Overseer backhanded him roughly, making Esam stagger under the blow. "How _dare _you speak the name of a superior! He is levels beyond your station, and you will show him proper respect!" The glint in his eyes showed he wished to strike again, but instead he drew himself up to his normal height. "The Field Commander is superseded in this situation. In light of the human attack on the _Truth and Reconciliation_, His Holiness has declared all units are to be adequately armed in case of ambush. The Supreme Commander has also expressed his wish that every site of interest to the Covenant, as well as possible targets of human raids, are to be properly reinforced. More infantry will arrive soon, and I have assurances that they will not interfere with our work." As he spoke, others had gathered around to listen in on the ad hoc announcement. It had not been part of the regular briefing. Now the Overseer turned to regard them all. "There is more to be brought down before we may begin. Back to the lift."

The group departed and Esam fell in line, still rubbing the side of his head where the Overseer had struck him. Esli 'Sarodee slipped into place beside him, giving him a worried look. Esam just shook it off.

* * *

><p>Ionill 'Ongyomee waited in his makeshift office, standing behind his desk. He monitored the hallway from his desk via the camera installed at the door. When he saw the Grunt approach, before the small creature could even touch the chime, he bade it open. He waited until his guest had stepped into the room before turning to the Unggoy. "You may leave."<p>

The Grunt bowed and saluted, leaving the soldier standing at attention. Ionill looked him over, arms clasped behind his back. The Elite Minor was young, but not too young; a lack of visible scars kept him from looking grizzled, but it was clear from the set of his mandibles and the dark skin under his brown eyes that he was mature, in his prime.

_Good_, Ionill thought. _Special Operations has little need of naïve recruits fresh from war college_. He made a show of looking down at his desk, even though he already had the warrior's information memorized.

"Oriné 'Fulsamee," he began, not yet looking up. "Your information states that you were born on Sanghelios, Lomak district of the capital, son of Ship Commander Orita 'Fulsamee. You were part of a successful junto on Jisako, attended Institution as your war college—a family tradition, it seems—and commenced with high honors." His eyes flashed up, catching the warrior's eyes. He did not break contact. _Good_. "This is true so far?"

The Minor gave a small nod. "Yes, Excellency."

"Your record becomes inconsistent from there, warrior," continued Ionill, this time not looking at the desk. "You were disciplined and condemned to serve on the _Devil's Gulag _station; officially, you were said to be a poor example of a front line soldier and good only for guarding broken prisoners and weapon stores, an assessment that does not match your moderately high combat rating and exemplary Proof scores. There is more to that story, I'm sure I hardly need remind _you_.

"But you defied your fate, saved a highly superior officer from certain death, and earned your first honor marking and your rightful passage out of that hell. From there you fought on three worlds, including Pearl, one of the fiercest and bloodiest encounters we faced against these heretics. You survived the death of your entire squad and went on to lead a lance with one of the lowest casualty rates in your Legion. You were recommended for advancement by your Major, but just when the hearing would have begun your sister suffered her own untimely fate, and you were once again put through hell.

"After that, there is nothing but good reports filed by your peers on your valor and honor in combat, but each report was intercepted and twisted by Major 'Gerrolee for his own ends." He finished, not taking his eyes off 'Fulsamee, gauging his reactions. An almost imperceptible twitch around the eyes, but other than that he remained stock still. _He has practiced to not show weakness in front of superiors, or probably anybody, for that matter_.

Oriné lowered his head slightly, but did not take his eyes off Ionill's. "An accurate report, Excellency."

"It does not bother you that you should be a Zealot by now, or at least a Major, with an illustrious career to match your father or even your brother? That you were robbed of your rightful place as a leader of armies instead of Grunts? Had you not suffered under the fist of passion, circumstance, and greed, _I _would be calling _you _'Excellency,' and not the other way around."

It took the Elite Minor a moment to respond. _He thinks this is a test_. In fact, Ionill had spoken with more frankness than he had meant.

"I do my duty to the Covenant," Oriné began cautiously, "and to my superiors. I am their tool to do with as they wish. Had my usefulness extended to advancement, I would be honored, but my usefulness is on the battlefield, and in that I am also honored."

"The exemplary tool response," Ionill huffed. "You taught yourself to read and understand the human language through human interrogation, and you have avoided serious wounding on the battlefield. They say scars are the sign of an honorable warrior. That may be, but I believe a lack of scars are the sign of a prudent one." He tightened his grip behind him.

It was clear 'Fulsamee didn't know how to respond. "Thank you for your kindness, Excellency."

"Don't." In a smooth motion, Ionill leveled the plasma pistol at the young warrior. He exaggerated his movement slightly—no reason to expect 'Fulsamee to have Operative-level reflexes yet. Also, he made sure to aim the pistol a few degrees higher than the head; if the Minor failed this test, at least he would continue to live and be a fine infantry soldier. Not everyone was cut out for Special Operations.

But 'Fulsamee did not disappoint. As Ionill fired, the warrior ducked his head and stepped into the Operative's arm, his own hand going to the weapon at his side. The Minor's claw swiped the pistol from Ionill's grip, and once he was disarmed, Oriné had the barrel of his own pistol placed right in front of the black-clad Sangheili's face.

A tense moment passed, both warriors frozen in place.

"Hmm," Ionill finally said. "You did not fire. No matter. I'm sure I can rid you of your hesitation during training."

'Fulsamee took a step back, lowering his weapon slightly. "Excellency?"

"I had the Grunt remove the power cell from your pistol before he woke you." Ionill took the weapon out of 'Fulsamee's hand and put it on the desk. "I am approving you for Special Operations training. Once I clear it with Commander 'Vadumee, you will be transferred into my unit and given a rapid training regimen to prepare you for your duty as a Prophet Blessed."

The Minor cocked his head. "You are offering me the chance to become an Operative?"

"I apologize if I am not being clear enough," said Ionill, putting the edge in his voice again. "You have been selected for the Prophet Blessed, Candidate 'Fulsamee. It is not an option. The Supreme Commander of the Fleet of Particular Justice and the Prophet in his company have decreed that we are to train additional Operatives to unlock the mysteries of Halo. I have selected you as part of the unit I will train, and you will report to me tomorrow at the first bell of the first shift in the gravity lift antechamber. Your training will commence then."

'Fulsamee seemed dumbstruck, but he managed a salute. "I will not let you down, Excellency."

"See that you do not. You have an excellent service record, 'Fulsamee." He nodded. "Dismissed."

Oriné turned to leave, but just as he was in the doorway, Ionill remembered something. "Wait a moment." The Minor turned back. "I have already selected your friend, 'Orgalmee, to be part of this unit as well. He's meeting with another Operative as we speak. But I am short on Grunt candidates; do you happen to know any who might work well? No need for exceptional brightness, just modest skill."

He stood for a moment, thinking. "I believe I do, Excellency," he said at last. "There was an Unggoy transferred into my lance just before we arrived here, by the name of Rurut. I have not known him long, but he seems a capable and hard worker. He does well under stress and does not panic easily."

"He sounds perfect. I shall add his name to the roster." Ionill sat down. "You may leave now. Go with the gods, 'Fulsamee."

"You as well, Excellency." 'Fulsamee walked out into the hallway and the door slid closed. Ionill sat for a while longer, ruminating on his decision, before he picked up the plasma pistol he had taken from Oriné. Curious, he pointed it at the wall and squeezed the trigger. The weapon bucked and fired a bolt of green energy into the wall. He nearly dropped it in alarm, looking first at the gun and then at the neat burn across the room. Checking the camera, he summoned the Grunt outside back in.

"I told you to remove the power cell before you woke him," Ionill said.

The Unggoy shrugged. "He was sleeping on that side. I couldn't."

Ionill glared at the diminutive form before sitting back in his chair and putting the pistol back on the desk. "Be gone," he growled, preparing to transmit a hologram to the _Seeker of Truth_. The Grunt turned and casually walked out as if nothing had happened.

Ionill watched him leave, then stood and prepared to make his report.

* * *

><p>After the weapons were all stored, the Inquisitors were finally able to begin their work. Esam and a small team of Inquisitors followed two infantry lances as they made their way through the geometric corridors and rooms of the structure. The inclusion of the regular army seemed redundant, as Inquisitors were meant to be able to alternate between scholar and soldier whenever necessary. Besides, he had never encountered anyone or anything hostile in a ruin, aside from humans, but such was an impossible occurrence.<p>

The infantry seemed to think so too. They trudged along without even bothering to keep their weapons up, the Grunts chatting idly in their own tongue and their Elite supervisors lax, simply walking. Esam couldn't blame them.

The structure was big, so the Inquisitors had been split up into smaller groups. Esli had gone to a different sector, but Esam was hardly bothered. The prospect of discovering new secrets and aspects of the Forerunners overrode any feeling of longing.

Up ahead, the infantry slowed. "Locked door," they called back. At the summons, one of the Inquisitors proficient with locks moved forward and began deactivating the mechanism keeping the door shut. Moments later, the strobing lights on either side of the door changed from a harsh red to pale green and access was granted.

Inside was a vault: a multi-tiered chamber with walkways across the upper levels leading to a central tank. The tank itself was empty, but it looked strong enough to hold a Hunter in full rage. Doors were located on every level, all indicating that they were locked. It was becoming a hindrance to the exploratory party: they had never seen an installation with so many active security protocols.

But what captured Esam's attention and took his breath away were the markings: large, luminescent glyphs, clear and certain, imposed above every doorway. Much of the Forerunners' writings were subtly inscribed onto surfaces or buried in holograms requiring days of analysis; these were blatant and simple, straightforward in presentation and meaning.

They all said the same thing: warning.

One of the Inquisitors looked at him. "What do they mean?"

Esam glanced at him but quickly looked back at the markings. "It advises caution."

"We know that," grunted another, "but you are well versed in understanding the nuances of glyphs. What kind of warning is it?"

Esam couldn't say. It was incredibly basic: no deviations to the standard script, no added serifs to slide meaning this way or that. The warning was nonspecific as far as reasons went, simply telling those about to enter this doorway to either turn back or understand the consequences of continuing. But the longer he looked at it, the more he thought of the symbol he had translated the night before, the one he had tagged as "parasite."

The team recorded the symbols, as well as marking the general layout of the room, before moving on. As they proceeded through a marked door, Esam felt something unfamiliar stirring inside himself. He understood the normal emotions that followed entering a new, unexplored area: anxiety and anticipation. But now a certain amount of fear had been introduced to the mix and was growing steadily.

For the first time in his life, Esam wasn't sure if he wanted to go on.

* * *

><p>The first bell of the first shift came, and Oriné 'Fulsamee strode into the <em>Truth and Reconciliation<em>'s gravity lift antechamber at the exact moment. He was clad in his stiff new armor, black in color. It was supremely uncomfortable.

Inside stood the Operative from before, as well as several others: one was instantly recognizable as Yarna, and another was Rurut; however, there were two other Unggoy that he didn't know. Nodding his greeting to the senior Operative, Oriné took his place in the line-up and straightened.

"We are all assembled," said the Operative. "My name is Ionill 'Ongyomee, and I will be the senior officer of this unit. You may notice that we are much smaller than the average Special Operations unit, but understand that it was the decision of the Prophet that we make use of many smaller teams rather than fewer large ones, to better accomplish our goals.

"Amidst the ranks of the Prophet Blessed are different protocols," he continued, beginning to pace. "Where once you were divided by rank and caste, you are now united in service to the Hierarchs. The armor which you now wear elevates you above all others and places you in your own station. Should I find that you still adhere to the old ways of social class, discipline will be quick and brutal.

"Warriors, speak your names."

At the end of the line, Oriné became somewhat flustered. "Elite Minor Oriné 'Fulsamee." The senior officer was silent, which the rest took as reason to continue:

"Elite Minor Yarna 'Orgalmee."

"Grunt Minor Rurut."

"Grunt Major Ononn."

"Grunt Major Ofoff."

"Grunt Minor Gagaw."

When they were finished, Ionill scowled. "I shall see it will take extra effort for you to understand your new assignments. When I said you were in your own station, I meant that _you are in your own station!_" Though they tried to remain as stoic as possible, the assembly present couldn't help but flinch. "You are no longer Majors or Minors, no longer Elites or Grunts! You are Operatives, serving the Prophets and the Covenant without question and with total discipline!"

"Yes, Excellency!" All of them spoke at the same time.

The senior officer nodded. "I do not know how long I have to train you, but I cannot assume it will be a worthy amount of time. We may be deployed at any moment, and when it happens you will be expected to perform your duties flawlessly." He paused. "There are other new Special Operations units being trained here as well, and all have been granted access to the space below the ship for exercises. We shall join them." Together the unit stepped onto the lift-pad, and 'Ongyomee keyed the holographic control panel. Beneath them the black disc slid away and they descended, gently but with haste, to the ground below.

* * *

><p>Ignil 'Quarmee still did not understand Halo. His own ignorance had never been more apparent to him now as he rode a Spirit dropship through a snowstorm. He stared out the viewing slot, captivated by eddies and whorls visible in the clouds beyond. Why had the Forerunners, divine as they were, elected to create inclement weather on what should have been a perfectly climate-controlled installation? He had seen many such places, being attached to an Inquisitor fleet, and with the exception of this sacred ring they had all been tailored to a specific and uniform climate—a touch colder than most Sangheili cared for, but still comfortable.<p>

Was he was truly curious about these things, or was he perhaps simply trying to distract himself from the reason for this particular journey? Somewhere below in a system of steep valleys waited Field Master Noga 'Putumee, of the Fleet of Particular Justice. Ignil grimaced as a reflex: 'Putumee had a reputation in the Covenant Armada. Certainly, his leadership skills were desirable and he always fought with bravery, but he was also known to be extremely confrontational and paranoid. In his previous campaign, the Field Master was rumored to have knowingly glassed a planet containing a reliquary of Forerunner artifacts, fearing that there was some unknowable taint to the world.

And ever since the Fleet of Particular Justice's arrival in this system, he had become 'Quarmee's commanding officer. It had been fine for him, as the Field Master had never requested an actual meeting, content to relay his commands over the Battle Net.

Until now.

The dropship's intercom crackled. "We will be landing momentarily, Excellency," said the pilot.

Anticipating the cold, Ignil dialed his armor's insulation up to maximum. Through the thick snowfall, he barely caught sight of a land-bridge as the Spirit rotated, bringing his side about to face a scattering of lights that seemed to ascend an unseen cliff face.

Finally the Spirit settled to the ground, and the troop compartments fell open. Ignil stepped out, mindful of the slick inner-doors, and found himself in snow up to his mid-calf. The wind howled about him, pelting his exposed and vulnerable face with large flakes of ice. He activated his shields, which stopped the physical projectiles but did nothing to abate the frigid air.

A shape marched out to meet him, and he soon took note of the crimson armor color. As the Sangheili came closer, he made out the markings of an Elite Major—not an Inquisitor Major as he had become accustomed to seeing over the past few weeks.

"Excellency," the aide said, saluting as he came to a stop. "The Field Master waits, if you will follow me." Ignil nodded his assent and fell into step behind the warrior. Given the treacherous depth of the snowfall, he was careful to step in the Major's existing hoofprints.

They got closer to the source of the lights, and finally the Field Commander realized why they seemed to go so high: the source was a ziggurat jutting from the valley wall. The massive stepped structure loomed high, some upper constructions glowing ethereally, while other pinpoints of light were caused by smaller devices set up by the Covenant. A work party of Unggoy marched past, carrying beacon lights further out into the storm.

"The Unggoy thrive here, Excellency," said the Major. He had to shout for Ignil to hear him. "As their native climate is particularly frigid, they find a sense of enjoyment working in the storm. The Field Master has decreed that they are to continue their labors while the Kig-Yar crews rest."

It was only a moment longer before they began to ascend a gentle slope at the base of the ziggurat. Here and there were Sangheili sentries, posted at corners and inside small tunnels. There were a handful of Ghosts, deactivated and sitting on the slope, their pilots idling nearby.

Ignil tapped the Major's shoulder. "Why are they not on patrol?"

"The Field Master has recalled all patrols for the duration of the storm. It is just as well: this structure is nestled in a box canyon. The only way for the humans to reach us is to either attempt a landing in here, where they will be shot down by our cannons on the bridge, or fight their way through the myriad tunnels that lead here, which are filled with our troops."

While both options sounded suicidal, the Field Commander thought that the brazen humans might try either one of those approaches. He wondered if the forces stationed here were truly prepared for such an attack.

Progress up the ziggurat was slow. To ascend, they had to march up a ramp on one side, make their way along a walkway to the other, go up another ramp, cross again, and repeat. _If anything_, Ignil thought as he crested the final slope, _such a construction will frustrate the humans and make it easier to defend_.

They stood on an open deck, the wind whistling across with renewed force. 'Quarmee struggled to keep his composure as they made their way to a final raised platform. They passed several miserable-looking Sangheili, their armors a mixture between regular infantry and Inquisitor Corps. It was strange to see so many infantry, when for so long he had been accustomed only to the sight of the more intellectual branch of the Covenant army.

On the final platform there was a tower which led further up and a large door, two burning amber lights indicative of the Forerunners' complicated and sturdy lock system. Several Inquisitors worked on a holographic panel while others, scattered about, were digging through the surrounding cliff-face with small-bore lasers, searching for an alternative route.

"The Field Master awaits in the tower, Excellency," said the Major.

Ignil stepped onto the tower's first ramp, and suddenly the howling wind stopped. He turned around, surprised, and saw the snow still flying by. There must have been an invisible force-field, he surmised, keeping the inside of this tower at a more acceptable climate level, though still slightly too cool for his tastes.

He ascended slowly, returning the insulation of his harness to normal. On one of the platforms overlooking the doorway he found the Field Master.

"Greetings," grumbled 'Putumee.

The Field Commander nodded his own salutation. "What is this place?"

"The Inquisitors believe it to be Halo's control room."

"Is it?"

'Putumee shrugged. "It's impossible to tell. This door has prevented further exploration, and given our experience with other such installations, they think there will be another door beyond, sealed even tighter than this one." He clicked his mandibles. "Such is the duty of the Inquisitors, I suppose."

There was a moment of silence. "I heard about your failed attack on the humans," Ignil finally said.

The Field Master inhaled deeply, puffing out his chest. "So you did."

"The Supreme Commander is concerned. The presence of the humans on the sacred ring did not bode well to begin with, but now that they have a source of supplies..."

"I am aware of what the Supreme Commander thinks!" snapped 'Putumee, turning his smoldering eyes toward 'Quarmee. "Though I failed to stop their convoy, at least I was able to do some damage. Was not the _Truth and Reconciliation_ in your sector? They may have escaped from me with weapons and ammunition, but they escaped from _you_ with their Ship Master."

'Quarmee clicked his mandibles. "My forces are simply Inquisitors, Field Master, and they faced a Demon." He didn't want to quarrel; he took a step back and lowered his shoulders. "This is all beside the point. I assume you summoned me here for a reason?"

'Putumee studied him for a moment before turning his attention back to the door. "The Fleet of Burning Judgment may have erred in occupying the ring so quickly."

A high claim. "How do you mean?"

"Several Inquisitor teams have reported to the Prophet finding heavily locked systems, much like this one, but far deeper into the ring itself. Analysis indicates that these systems are linked. More than that, one of your Inquisitors located and catalogued this symbol." The Field Master drew a previously unseen Lumidex and handed it to Ignil. He studied it intently, tickled by a sensation of familiarity but unable to place it.

'Putumee sensed his ignorance. "It resembles one such symbol found at the facility located by the _Virtuous Pilgrim_."

A jolt of energy lanced down 'Quarmee's spine. Now he remembered. The _Virtuous Pilgrim_ had been a scouting cruiser, sent into unknown space to search for Forerunner artifacts in unexplored planetary systems. It had come to one star in particular, and its luminary had identified a Forerunner object in close orbit around the sun. Following its mission, the cruiser had moved in to investigate.

Unfortunately, that's where the public record stopped. The tale was of great interest to Inquisitors, and once 'Quarmee had attained Zealot rank, he had discovered a continued—but still heavily redacted—report.

Inside the facility, the crew of the _Pilgrim_ had found something unknown, something the handful of survivors had claimed as _evil_. The final account revealed that the cruiser and the facility, as well as most of the crew, had been destroyed by a solar flare. A recovery team sent out had found the survivors and some remaining debris, among which had been this symbol. It had been hidden, buried, and never entered into the military catalogue.

Until now, when an Inquisitor had found an identical marking on Halo, and called it "Parasite." 'Quarmee had always assumed that the lost, forsaken facility had something to do with the humans, as they were the antithesis of the Forerunners; that it had been rediscovered at the same time that the humans arrived here was not coincidence, but fate.

Yet the symbol's presence here, in this holiest of holy places, gave him an unsettled feeling in his stomachs.

The survivors of the _Virtuous Pilgrim_'s mission had been debriefed in closed session by select individuals of the Council of Masters and the Hierarchs, and most had died in strange and conveniently unrelated ways after, except for one: the acting Ship Master at the time of the facility's destruction, Orna 'Fulsamee.

"The Gods work in curious ways," said Ignil, glancing up at 'Putumee. "Earlier, I spoke with the brother of—"

Excited cries below interrupted him. Both Zealots looked down to see the previously amber lights turn green, and the massive door slide open. The Inquisitors cheered and rushed into the opening. Quickly, both of the watching Sangheili descended the tower and rushed through the cold air and into the newly-opened area.

It was a wide hallway, most made of a glassy substance punctuated by supporting metal areas. 'Quarmee's boots clicked oddly against the unknown material, but he was too distracted by the shouts of the Inquisitors up ahead. Turning around a gradual corner, he saw the mass of Sangheili stopped up against another door, locked against their attempts at access.

"Calm yourselves!" the Field Commander yelled, getting their attention. "There is much to do in this access way alone. Grab your equipment and begin recording." During his time among the Fleet of Burning Judgment, he had picked up on the methods of the Inquisitors, and in situations such as this had often acted as a de-facto Overseer.

The Sangheili quickly hopped to, bringing in recording devices and additional point-lighting. They set to work, beginning where they could find room amongst their peers, trying to tease the littlest points of detail out of the geometrically-perfect hall.

'Putumee nodded down the hall. "We shall need a team to investigate that door."

"Very well." 'Quarmee signaled two nearby Inquisitors. "With me."

They advanced between the other Sangheili, coming to a stop next to the control panel. As a simple test, one of the Inquisitors moved to activate the control panel, but when he neared it flashed a single symbol. The Field Commander didn't understand it. Pulling out his Lumidex, the Inquisitor scanned it and frowned.

"Excellency," he said, offering the pad, "this rune is classified."

Ignil took the device and input his clearance. It was rejected. He passed the Lumidex over to Field Master 'Putumee, who typed his in as well.

"This is highly secured. I cannot access it."

"We'll have to put this on the Battle Net for open translation..."

A cry went out. "Excellencies! I have made a discovery!"

'Quarmee and 'Putumee made their way over to the origin of the voice. A Sangheili in blue armor was holding one of the point-illumination devices up against the glassy material; at first, Ignil saw nothing other than the reflection of the light, but once he reached the right angle, he saw what the Inquisitor had seen.

Runes. Markings, carved almost invisibly into a layer below the surface. As the Minor swept the light back and forth, it was apparent that these symbols were present throughout the glassy substance, and in all other groups of it as well.

"What is this?" 'Putumee asked, sounding disinterested.

"I am not sure, Excellency," said one Inquisitor, "but from the sheer number and variety of symbols, we could be looking at a lengthy history or, if we dare hope, a complete codex." A few of the others murmured excitedly at the prospect.

"Very well," Ignil said. "I must contact the Prophet and the Supreme Commander. Begin scanning the symbols, and set one team to unlock the other door. Keep me informed of all developments." The Inquisitors set to work, most going back out into the cold to search for more equipment. Ignil himself had to leave and find an uplink crate so he could make his report.

As he went, however, a stray beam from one of the point-light devices flashed against the wall beside him. For a moment, he thought he could see the "Parasite" symbol, but the light moved too quickly for him to be sure.


	4. Shadow Games

Chapter 4: Shadow Games

Esam 'Mijumee eased himself against the wall, careful of his aching muscles. For the past several hours he had been dragging crates across the underground facility, as well as trekking back and forth from site to site. Overseer 'Oegulee had been running him ragged, handling extra projects and lending support to lost or confused infantry units. He figured it was probably revenge for earlier "undermining" the Major's authority.

At the moment, Esli 'Sarodee was taking a rest cycle, so Esam withdrew his Lumidex and cycled through the Battle Net, looking for a way to dispel his boredom.

One thread caught his eye. Highlighting it, he saw that a new and unidentified rune had been uncovered at a site where—if the data was to be believed—the Inquisition had uncovered the control room to Halo. Suppressing his excitement over that, he focused on the marker itself and the discussion that followed.

Most of the Inquisitors had dismissed it as nonsense, or without proper context; only a few had actually attempted to match the curves and dashes to their complicated meanings, and had come up with the term "reclamation."

Yet, looking at it, that didn't seem quite right. Esam traced his claw over the screen, following the lines carefully. He remembered his earlier discovery of the "parasite" rune, how complicated but straightforward it seemed. This shared some of those traits, but it was something different. Before, he had sensed something foreboding, but this was much further in the future, and more... optimistic.

There it was. It _was _reclamation, but subtle variances revealed it to be a proper noun, rather than an abstract ideal.

_Not "reclamation_,_"_ he typed into the Lumidex, _but "reclaimer."_

* * *

><p>The arid environment below the <em>Truth and Reconciliation<em> was not ideal for cover, but Oriné 'Fulsamee surmised that the Special Operations were not called upon for ideal conditions. It was still night, but he could no longer see the day/night terminator on other parts of the right; soon, dawn would arrive.

Slowly, Oriné 'Fulsamee advanced behind Ionill 'Ongyomee, gripping his training rifle tightly. It had been many years since he held such a weapon, usually meant for Elite Juniors at war colleges across Covenant space, but the memory of its particular quirks surfaced easily from his muscles. It didn't handle exactly like the plasma rifles it was meant to mimic, and one had to lead more than with genuine plasma.

The commander held a weapon also meant for training, but it more closely resembled the Covenant's Carbine as a precision weapon. Yarna 'Orgalmee's weapon was exactly like Oriné's, and the Grunts carried training analogues to the plasma pistol. Elsewhere in the ravine, the other team carried a similar armament.

They—collectively designated "Hallowed Unit"—crept up the incline, 'Ongyomee leading from the front. He signaled for them to drop low and keyed his active camouflage. The massive Sangheili faded from view, and Oriné could no longer track him. A few moments later the commander reappeared and knelt down.

_Enemy sentries_, he said through hand motion, _two ahead. Engage active camouflage, flank and eliminate_. The newly-christened Operatives indicated their comprehension and did as they were ordered.

Oriné held his rifle close to his chest. He was unused to the active camouflage system, having only trained with it sparingly at Institution. Most Operatives, he understood, were forced to spend days while camouflaged in order to learn how to operate without seeing one's own limbs. Mentally he ran through the location of his equipment, knowing that he couldn't see it if he had to find it in a hurry.

The two sentries were vigilant, but wore the cobalt armor of Inquisitor Minors. They nervously glanced around, inexperienced but understanding this was only an exercise. From what Oriné could tell, they were maintaining patrol of a set area: lack of other personnel suggested that they still hadn't found their objective, but rather just encountered the enemy perimeter.

'Ongyomee had been drilling them in proper procedure for a couple of hours. Oriné had yet to actually implement any of these techniques, so he took to this scenario with some anxiety. He quietly slipped behind one and matched him step for step, waiting for the telling breeze of Yarna to fall in beside him. When Oriné felt it, he raised his weapon and fired a single bolt. Instantly, the Inquisitor's armor—pre-set to the training stance—seized up and the Sangheili fell to the ground. Beside him, the other Elite did the same.

The commander faded into view nearby. "Very good," he rumbled. The others took this as a sign to decloak as well. "Ordinarily it is wise to avoid the discharging of weapons, as they could betray your position, but I think our opponents would find your silent takedowns more lethal than is appropriate."

Oriné nodded. "As you say, Excellency."

"The route to our objective will be fraught with foes, and from here on we cannot risk the discovery of bodies. We will endeavor to complete our mission while remaining undetected.

"Forward, warriors."

* * *

><p>Ignil 'Quarmee was thoroughly exhausted by the time he returned to his office on Halo. Shortly after his meeting with Field Master 'Putumee, another Inquisitor unit had contacted him with problems of their own. In one of the more mountainous regions, the Shadow transport they had been using—one of the rare non-combat ground vehicles the Fleet of Burning Judgment had at its disposal—had unexpectedly toppled into a ravine. He rerouted his dropship so he could see the damage himself, then contacted the Fleet of Particular Justice for support.<p>

That had been followed by a heated argument between himself and the Supreme Commander. 'Quarmee had requested the use of a Phantom, as it had a more robust gravity lift than the Spirit and would be able to lift the Shadow out with no difficulty. The Supreme Commander had flatly refused, stating that the handful of Phantoms he possessed were reserved for use by the Prophet and Special Operations teams.

At last, he had devised a plan that used two Spirits and several cables to physically lift the Shadow, which was mostly successful but still resulted in one of the anti-gravity supports on the ground vehicle being damaged. It had been sent back to _Truth and Reconciliation_ for repair, but until it was fixed, the Inquisitor unit could make no more headway toward its objective.

His desk flashed with multiple messages, mostly troop movements and equipment requests from other Inquisitors. He approved them all and then turned his attention to two that were more out of the ordinary.

The first was a directive from the Prophet, stating that outposts currently occupied by Covenant forces were to be examined "with due diligence" by Inquisitor teams, just in case one of them proved significant. That was fine; the Field Commander had already ordered a team to begin scouring the lower levels for anything important. At last report, they said certain passages went deeper than initial estimates. Shortly thereafter they had gone too deep and communication had been lost.

Reminded, 'Quarmee tasked a small infantry detachment to descend and check on them.

The other message pertained to recent human movement in the local sector. Patrols were reporting transient human contact, but whenever they pursued, the humans seemed to vanish. Sentries also reported motion and extreme range for the ground sensors, but weren't able to definitively state if it was human-related or not.

He filed that message away and followed up with orders to report any further contact to the nearest infantry officer. Additionally, he decided to deploy a few Hunter pairs around the base as forward guards. If the humans were planning an attack, he wanted to be prepared.

Beyond that, there were other matters at hand. Inquisitors from all over the ring were filing regular investigation reports about their various findings. Halo was proving to be immensely complex, but he had expected as much. It was the divine engine by which the Forerunners ascended to divinity: it had to be complicated; otherwise anyone could become a god.

Still, he found himself lost in the technical detail being unearthed by the dedicated explorers, and was only snapped out of his reverie several hours later by a very insistent alarm. A strobing light indicated a high-priority alert from the Inquisitor team at the suspected control room. He brought up the message:

_To all forces:_

_Human elements have begun a local assault. Their current target is unknown, but feared to be the control room for which all our work has been dedicated._

_We humbly request the support of any Army and Inquisitor units available._

_Unconfirmed reports of Demon involvement._

He cursed. If the humans were indeed attempting to gain control of the region, they could irreversibly hamper the Covenant's progress towards the Great Journey. The sacred ring was too important to lose, even to the efforts of a Demon.

He cleared the alarm and started to rise, pausing only when he realized the siren had not ceased. There was another alert, this one a live transmission.

"Field Commander," spoke an anonymous Sangheili, "we have dire news."

"What is it, warrior?"

"A human attack force has been sighted on approach. It will arrive at the perimeter in seven minutes."

'Quarmee resisted the urge to slam his fist against the desk. "I will be up in a moment," he replied curtly, cutting the connection immediately thereafter.

The control room would have to rely on local forces after all.

* * *

><p>Oriné 'Fulsamee's muscles ached, but he did not waiver. The twin electric-blue prongs of his plasma sword cut geometric patterns in the air as he swung, but Commander 'Ongyomee was too fast. He blocked the attack and countered, Oriné barely able to move his head out of the way in time. Concern trickled down his neck. These were not practice weapons. If he moved wrong, the commander would take off his head.<p>

'Ongyomee settled his stance. "You are improving, 'Fulsamee, but you are far from mastery. Were this not an accelerated program, you would spend many more months working to perfect your form. As it is, we have only hours."

Oriné bowed. "You are too kind, Excellency." Truth be told, he had not used his sword in combat for many years. His blade, he felt, was tainted by the events immediately following his sister's public execution as a heretic. It had not felt right even carrying it into battle, though as a Minor he was not authorized to draw it except in the direst circumstances.

His new station as a Prophet Blessed, however, required he be well-versed in sword technique. Commander 'Ongyomee, following the exercises below the ship, brought the team back up to _Truth and Reconciliation _for further training. The Unggoy were currently drilling in the use of plasma turrets under the direction of Ofoff, who had previously been a gunner of some skill.

Meanwhile, Oriné and Yarna had been pulled into a vacant storage bay to learn the art of the sword. 'Ongyomee had briefly educated them in the three battle forms—_kilic_, _flor_, and _kard_—before launching straight into practice.

"Step back, 'Fulsamee," 'Ongyomee ordered. "I would have 'Orgalmee as my opponent next."

Yarna stepped forward, to his credit showing no signs of anxiety. While Oriné had only killed with his sword once, Yarna had never wielded his blade against a living opponent.

The two sparred, leaving Oriné to observe. Yarna did well, but the commander flowed between movements like graceful water maneuvering around a clumsy and stubborn rock. Several times Oriné's fellow Operative left a large opening in his defense that could have been exploited by an opponent with any modicum of skill; each time, the commander feinted towards it but did not follow through with a killing blow.

Oriné relaxed slightly. Perhaps 'Ongyomee did care whether his new Operatives survived his training.

The pair fought for several bouts until a loud chime interrupted them.

"For Special Operations Commander 'Ongyomee," said a voice over the Ship Net, "a message awaits at the terminal."

'Ongyomee powered off his sword. "Hold for now," he said. Yarna bowed. The commander walked to the far wall, where a small terminal rested in an alcove.

Oriné stepped closer to his friend. "How do you feel?"

"Like I have been run over several times by a tank," Yarna muttered. He inspected the deactivated hilt in his hand with one part disdain and another part distant sadness. "My father is an expert with the blade, claimed to be descended from a Swordsman line. I don't share his gift."

The younger Operative nodded. Long ago, before their integration into the Covenant, the Sangheili people had believed the qualities of a good swordsman could not be confined to a single Lineage. Those skilled enough were given a special suffix, "-ai," and forbidden to Bond with any one mate. Instead, they could sire a child with whomever they wished, Bonded or not; being possessed of the so-called "Swordsman gene" also had political clout.

A few Lineages clung to those roots, though the social edicts associated with being a Swordsman had been done away with many generations prior, and some families still used the -ai suffix to this day.

Oriné rolled the name _'Orgalmai_ around in his head a few times. It sounded alien.

"Warriors!"

The shout came from across the bay. Both Operatives straightened to attention as 'Ongyomee signaled them. "Come, we are to be deployed."

"Yes, Excellency." Both joined their commander as he left the bay, summoning the Unggoy to a nearby armory as he went. Inside, a hologram emitter had been installed in the center of the room, with weapons racks emanating from it like spokes on a wheel. It currently showed a three-dimensional image of Halo; as each member of Hallowed Unit entered they said a prayer.

"Your ears," 'Ongyomee said. "It is believed that a possible site of interest has been located in the lower levels of a Forerunner structure here"—he indicated a specific sector on the ring—"that is currently being used as a base for our forces. The Inquisitor unit sent to investigate has not reported back in quite some time, but it is believed that they are too deep to access the Battle Net. We must go in, locate them, and help them search.

"There is a complication: this outpost has come under attack by a moderately-sized human force. The local garrison is having difficulty repelling the assault, and other reinforcements have been delayed by similar aggressive pushes elsewhere.

"When we land, we will assist the ground forces in breaking the human movement and proceed into the tunnels below to search for the Inquisitors." His hardened eyes swept over his unit. "We will know more once we arrive. Arm yourselves for prolonged combat."

Oriné automatically gravitated towards a rack of plasma rifles. He selected two, double-checked their charge, and attached them to his magnetic holsters. He next chose five plasma grenades and fixed them to his hip.

He wanted to maintain a light armament to allow for in-field reconfiguration. His new Special Operations armor was lighter and easier to move in, and had boosted shields to compensate. It could also maintain both shields and active camouflage at the same time, a feat unrivaled in the standard infantry harness.

The other members of Hallowed Unit made their choices. 'Ongyomee selected a plasma rifle and left it at that; Yarna chose a plasma rifle as his sidearm and took down a Needler as well. Ononn and Gagaw seized Fuel Rod Cannons off the racks; Ofoff bundled up a plasma turret in his almost comically small arms.

However, Rurut hesitated. He seemed torn.

Oriné stepped up behind him. "Would you care for a suggestion?"

The Unggoy looked up at him, wary. "Yes."

Oriné pulled down a Needler and grabbed a satchel of extra grenades. "You are good with grenades," he said. "In practice, I do not think there was a target you missed. However, you are a terrible shot. The guidance system in the Needler will compensate somewhat for your inability." He handed both to the Grunt. "Do not rely on it too much."

"Thank you," Rurut said.

"Stay firm, and you will kill many humans this day."

Oriné watched as the Unggoy waddled off to join its comrades. Yarna eyed Oriné carefully. "You certainly seem to favor that one."

"He is intelligent," Oriné replied. "When you speak, he listens."

The other clicked his mandibles. "So you say."

The commander barked an order, and Hallowed Unit filed out of the armory, bound for the dropship hangar. 'Ongyomee fell into step with Oriné as they walked.

"You have a good rapport with the unit, 'Fulsamee."

"Thank you, Excellency."

"You and 'Orgalmee are close in skill, but I feel that you are slightly ahead. I am designating you my sub-Commander for this outing. If your performance is sufficient, I will make it an official posting."

Oriné fought to keep his composure. Hours into his Special Operations career and he was already in a position of leadership. The situation tempered his excitement: 'Ongyomee _needed_ a sub-Commander, and his options were limited. He did not consider Yarna qualified, and it was rare for an Unggoy to be given the position.

"Yes, Excellency. I will not fail."

'Ongyomee chuffed. "See that you do not."

* * *

><p>It had been several hours since Esam 'Mijumee last rested. His team had soldiered on, driven by both the infantry among them and their own anxiety. After finding the room of doors, the Inquisitors had discovered chambers far more scientific in their purpose than what they had so far discovered. Ancient consoles were scattered about, the sterile remains of a laboratory in which some equipment still functioned.<p>

They spent copious amounts of time documenting, analyzing, and collecting items of interest. None of them wanted to stop working, and so took advantage of the presence of the Army: several Kig-Yar had been repurposed from their combat roles into couriers, running messages and objects too inscrutable or important to be handled on-site.

However, it was a tense several hours for Esam. As the foremost expert in cryptography currently available, he was called upon often to translate something for his fellow Inquisitors. So far, everything had a dark and forbidding undertone, and it seemed every other symbol he came across was that of the unmistakable warning from earlier.

He moved from chamber to chamber, lending aid and advice. He felt like a de-facto Overseer, but also understood his popularity only extended to the immediate area. Strangely, he found it distasteful, and hurried to find a way to either move on or go back.

One Inquisitor rose up, holding a hand-held terminal. "I require a Kig-Yar!"

Esam glanced around. No Kig-Yar were around, all sent out on errands. He seized the chance and strode over. "What is it?"

The Inquisitor eyed him carefully. "This unit still functions, but I cannot make it display its contents. I would like to send it to the surface for examination by an Engineer."

"I will take it."

Esam held out his hand. The other Inquisitor hesitated, clearly concerned with the possibility of Esam stealing credit.

"You have my guarantee that its discovery will be recorded in your name."

The unit was handed over, and Esam held his ticket for escape tight in his hands. He left the area, heading back into the room of doors. It was quieter here; no other teams were moving through, and his group would not return here until the further chambers were completely documented.

He breathed deeply and began to stroll around at a relaxed pace. He disliked the fervent rush that characterized the Inquisitors, but it couldn't be avoided. Their role demanded a hurried methodology; when they were deployed to human worlds on recovery missions, they were usually given a short timeline by whatever Fleet Master they served, detailing how long they had until the surface was destroyed.

To Esam, these things required time and caution, a careful hand.

Warmth spread from his palm. Esam glanced down and started: the screen on the Forerunner device had come alive. He brought it up to his eyes, attempting to discern what had changed to make it work. There was only one visible symbol, flashing intently in the center of the screen.

"Unseal."

Esam looked around. In his wandering, he had ascended the levels until he came upon a door that he hadn't noticed before. It was unique in the room as the only one without a warning symbol above it.

It was, besides the one his team had already pried open, the only door that was still locked.

Esam touched the symbol on the terminal. The door split along its seams and parted with a small hiss. Beyond was a dark and narrow passage, but as he took an unconscious step past the threshold, the unit in his hand made a sound. Suddenly, inactive grates and panels exploded into life, briefly searing an after-image into Esam's eyes.

The tingling fear in his mind returned, but he forced it down. He had never before encountered such a responsive environment while exploring Forerunner ruins. The device in his hands was not magnetic and would not adhere to his holster, so instead of taking out his Lumidex to make notes he simply continued forward.

Eventually he came to an elevator platform. He stopped to inspect the control panel, but it was very basic: it could only stop on two levels, this one and one further down. There was nothing else in the room, so he boarded and pressed the hologram. The platform dropped precipitously fast, but Esam barely felt it, either from an inertial dampener or perhaps just plain excitement. Lights flashed by, changing their hue ever slightly the lower into the facility he descended.

When the platform came to a rest, Esam found himself in a small room with only one door. He consulted the terminal; it said "Control" with a directional signal pointing towards the door.

He moved on, walking through the still and silent passage. It was cramped compared to the Forerunner structures he usually studied. Halls tended to be wide and tall, covered in blue light panels and glassy structures. They were grandiose compared to this small, utilitarian space: the only light provided were motes of an orange hue that made it difficult for the Sangheili to see.

The excitement from earlier slowly turned to dread. He was completely cut off from his fellow Inquisitors and the Infantry; he was too deep to access the Battle Net. A sensible warrior, he realized, would turn back now and return with more forces, but it was a sense of wonder and deep, primal curiosity that drove him on.

Still, his free hand drifted to his sidearm.

He reached the room the terminal led him to and stopped, overwhelmed. Surrounding him were true color two-dimensional holograms depicting what was going on in the rest of the facility. He saw Inquisitorial teams as they carefully combed through the artifacts, the infantry on guard upstairs; even Overseer 'Oegulee, who had found a quiet place to clean his armor.

The more he investigated, the more it seemed to be a security control station of some kind. He could cycle the holograms around, even to what seemed like other facilities scattered across the ring. He had a limited control over where the viewpoint looked in each room, though it would only move so much.

However, everything was done via the hand-held unit. None of the terminals in the room were active; they were all dark. Only one seemed independently powered, hooked up to the one screen that showed a dark nothingness. Esam walked over and examined it, recognizing the "Reclaimer" symbol from earlier. He reached out a finger and gently touched it, but withdrew it immediately as a stabbing pain shot up his arm. The tip of his finger had been burned.

The hand-held warmed in his other palm again. There was another "unseal" symbol visible upon its surface, which Esam keyed.

The terminal came to life. It was no image, but instead a record. A very complete and thorough record, Esam realized as he scrolled through it. At first his excitement made him too eager and he moved quickly through, trying to get a feel for what it was he had found. However, the gravity of what was reading slowed him down until he was carefully absorbing every word.

That fear, primal and cold, returned. This time, there was nothing he could do to control it.


	5. Descent

**Author's Note: **Don't forget to vote in the poll on my profile page! The last day of voting will be a week after the last chapter of this story goes online. Also, there might not be another update until after Christmas, for holiday-related reasons. Enjoy, and have a happy whatever!

* * *

><p>Chapter 5: Descent<p>

When the Spirit touched down, Oriné 'Fulsamee stepped out warily behind Commander 'Ongyomee—the forest was almost peaceful, but here and there the thunder of an explosion or the staccato of human weapons broke the illusion. The two Operatives took careful stock of their surroundings and waved the Unggoy out. As soon as all of Hallowed Unit had disembarked, 'Ongyomee signaled the dropship to lift off and return to the _Truth and Reconciliation_.

Once the ship was out of sight, the commander turned to the team. "We shall endeavor to disrupt the human attack force, but our ultimate goal is to reach the outpost and lend our expertise to searching its depths." He waved them forward and cloaked; the rest did the same.

As they moved, Oriné observed the environment. The forest was made up of seemingly one type of tree, a species similar to the human "pine" but also bearing resemblance to the bunu trees on Sanghelios, the kind that could be found at higher altitudes and in cooler environments. Their leaves resembled needles like the pine, but they were softer, more malleable. He risked plucking one off a branch as they passed, a ghost admiring the foliage.

Yarna 'Orgalmee's voice was a whisper beside him. "Does your expertise now extend to flora, as well?"

Oriné said nothing. He crushed the leaf between his claws and let it fall.

The sound of battle grew louder, Hallowed Unit now close enough to hear the return register of Covenant weaponry. Up ahead, Oriné could see tents of the sort that humans erected when they did not plan a long occupation. One had a white and red symbol emblazoned on the canvas, the kind he identified from his time at Institution as the symbol for their Healers.

He wondered if it would be a target, but none of his teammates seemed to be stopping. He continued on his way.

A moment later the commander reappeared. Oriné and the others followed suit.

_Plasma grenades, full volley_, he signaled. _Fuel Rod Cannons fire from behind, cloak, evade. Hold fire until through enemy. Fuel Rod Cannons again, plasma rifle fire as retreat_. The members of Hallowed Unit signaled their comprehension before reengaging their active camouflage.

The attack was sudden when launched. Each warrior primed and threw two grenades, all twelve landing in a spread out formation. When they detonated, the resulting chaos cleared a center lane and put the humans on alert; with their attention split, the incoming fire from the Covenant forces on the other side intensified.

Ononn and Gagaw decloaked to avoid straining their camouflage systems and fired their Fuel Rod Cannons directly into the separated humans. Blossoms of vibrant green energy consumed the soldiers, sending many screaming and bleeding to the ground.

They were panicking now, firing wildly into the forest around them. The gunners cloaked before they were spotted. Oriné heard 'Ongyomee's quiet order to move and sprinted forward, moving through the space provided by the attack. Bullets zinged past but nothing struck him. That was a good thing: his shields would have lit up under the impact, betraying his presence.

Once clear, the Grunts turned and fired another volley as the Elites began a withering cover fire. Oriné used both plasma rifles, sending an alternating stream of constant plasma at the human soldiers. By now they figured out what was attacking them, but it was too late to effectively counterattack as Hallowed Unit retreated for the outpost a mere four hundred yards away.

The Covenant had organized well. Human forces were closing in, but the facility in which they had set up their outpost had a substantial platform that towered over the forest floor. Jackal snipers had set up along its edge, firing Needlers and plasma pistols down into the human forces. Had they beam rifles, their effectiveness would have been increased exponentially.

Hallowed Unit decloaked and climbed up the heavily-guarded ramp to the platform. 'Ongyomee glanced around and gestured to the edge of the platform. "Ofoff, place your turret there and rain damnation upon these vile heretics." The Grunt nodded and waddled into position. A moment later the weapon was pouring its deadly plasma into the forest, pausing occasionally to prevent overheating.

A Minor rushed past, but the commander reached out and seized his shoulder. "Where is your Zealot?"

"He oversees the battle, Excellency. Follow me and I shall lead you to him."

The Minor brought them to an overhang that allowed an ample, if risky view of the surrounding battle. Oriné instantly recognized Field Commander 'Quarmee from their conversation... just over a day ago, he realized with a start. Had it truly been so short a time?

'Quarmee accepted a Lumidex from the Minor before turning to 'Ongyomee. "It seems fate has reintroduced us, Operative."

"Indeed so, Field Commander," replied the dark Sangheili. "If only the circumstances were better."

The Field Commander grunted his agreement. "The humans must have followed one of my resupply dropships and realized this was a command post. Our latest intelligence suggests they have a construct with them on the ring that can access our Battle Net." He thumbed through the contents of the Lumidex. "Furthermore, it seems that a great deal of the reinforcements meant for my engagement here are being repurposed."

Oriné cocked his head. "For what?"

'Quarmee eyed him, a glimmer of recognition gracing his features. "A myriad of reasons. Another human assault is underway in the area we believe to house the control room, a small force of soldiers and the Demon. Some of the other outposts in this section of the ring are also sending out distress signals, though the details are unknown to me at this time."

Commotion erupted below them. Oriné peered over the edge and saw a Hunter pair in battle stance, firing their mounted Fuel Rod Guns into the advancing humans. The hulking creatures in battleship-rated armor moved forward slowly, protecting their vulnerable waists and necks with thick shields made of impenetrable alloys.

One of the humans launched a rocket; the closest Hunter swatted it aside with its shield and fired again.

'Quarmee fiddled with the Lumidex. "I am directing all further dropships bound to this outpost to land behind the enemy lines and worry them down from the rear. With their attention split I can begin my counteroffensive, and the battle should be won within the hour."

"We greatly weakened their line where we penetrated, Excellency," said Oriné. "If we give you our approach route, any incoming infantry should find less resistance there."

"Very well." The Field Commander smiled. "You are an ambitious one, 'Fulsamee, though I suppose I should call you Operative now, too. A Prophet Blessed, eh? How have you fared?"

"This is my first deployment, Excellency."

"No need for honorifics. The Prophet Blessed function outside the normal chain of command. They cannot afford to have their delicate operations upset by the likes of me."

There was a loud _crack_. Instinctively Oriné ducked, his brain identifying the sound of a sniper rifle before his conscious mind. 'Ongyomee was already on the ground; 'Quarmee perhaps a second slower. For a tense moment they waited, wondering who the target was.

From below sounded a long, mournful howl: one of the Hunters, calling out its rage over its fallen Bond Brother. Oriné risked a look and saw one of the behemoths sprawled out on the ground, unmoving, a growing puddle of orange ichors below it. The other pounded its shield into the ground and began to rampage, tearing through human and Covenant alike without regard for friend or foe.

If they survived, the Lekgolo would become inconsolable in its sorrow, perhaps even deconstructing their Hunter gestalt and dying slowly as the individual worms. A Bond Brother was a hermaphroditic lover, trading worms between them in order to maintain a certain genetic diversity. In a way, losing a Bond Brother was like losing a part of yourself.

"Well," muttered 'Quarmee as he pulled himself to his feet. "That will take care of that part of the line. The outcome is inevitable, now." He looked to Commander 'Ongyomee. "I suppose you may proceed into the structure. I sent a lance of infantry down earlier and have not heard back."

"I do not need your approval, Field Commander, but I appreciate it all the same." He gestured to the rest of Hallowed Unit, summoning Ofoff away from his turret. "We will proceed down into the facility. Our primary objective is to locate and assess the primary power drain in this sector and decide its usefulness to the Great Journey. If we can, we shall locate and recover the missing infantry and Inquisitors.

"Given the record of communications difficulties, we will require an Operative to stay behind and act as a Battle Net relay."

Gagaw's hand went up immediately. 'Ongyomee looked him over. "You understand, Gagaw, that by remaining up here you will forfeit all rights to glory and honor in the name of the Prophets?"

"It disappoints me, Excellency," said Gagaw, sounding a bit too smug, "but it is a job that must be done. The Prophet Blessed do not seek glory or honor, but act only in the interest of furthering the Hierarch's will."

"Very well. Onward, warriors."

* * *

><p>Esli 'Sarodee awoke from a dark dream.<p>

He and part of his team had been allowed a brief rest by Overseer 'Oegulee, having worked near the point of exhaustion. His good friend Esam should have been with them, but he had wandered off a while ago and couldn't be found. 'Oegulee was in a rage but unwilling to spare anyone to search.

The last pieces of the dream fell out of his mind as he woke and stretched, leaving only a profound feeling of unease, like cold tentacles around his soul. One by one he roused the slumbering Sangheili and Unggoy to prepare them for another grueling work period.

Nearby, the Overseer cycled through a Lumidex.

"News, Excellency?" asked Esli as he walked over.

"The latest reports from the forward exploration teams," replied the Major, eyes narrowed, voice slurring a little from fatigue. "One of the groups has found a large and heavily locked door that impedes any further progress. They need a team to open it."

"Have you rested?"

'Oegulee waved him off. "I do not need rest, I need results. We will go. Inquisitor 'Mijumee may be our greatest cryptographer, but you, Inquisitor 'Sarodee, know how to bypass locks very well."

Esli hesitated before nodding. "As you say, Excellency."

The Major grunted. "Let's go."

It was an uneventful trip down. This forward team in particular had broken off from the other scouting groups and gone straight down a spiraling chasm, setting up illumination and markers as they went. It was easy for the Inquisitor team to follow their progress.

Tension mounted in the air. This deep, the Forerunners clearly eschewed their normal grandiosity and lavishness in favor of sheer practicality. Places such as this served as a reminder to Esli that, for all its religious overtones and sacred altars, Halo was still a machine. He had always held a different view from the traditional Divinidex, one passed down his Lineage for generations: while following in the Forerunners' footsteps was acceptable, it would be better for the Covenant to merely use their relics as a guideline, to achieve progress on their own that rivaled that of their predecessors. Only then would they truly be worthy of becoming gods.

It was an unusual view for a Sangheili. Prior to the Covenant, they had believed all Forerunner artifacts to be sacrosanct and forbade anyone from trying to improve upon them. It was the Prophets that introduced the idea of using the ancient technology as a base for still greater things.

The 'Sarod Lineage had long been considered outcasts, but in the Covenant they had found vindication.

At the bottom and down a long, narrow hall they came to an antechamber that held little of interest except for a massive door. It was partially illuminated, and where it lit up it was a deep and warning red. It seemed inelegant and brutal for something made by the Forerunners, even this far into the mechanisms of Halo.

The forward team idled about, accompanied by an infantry lance. Some Inquisitors made a show of checking the walls, floor, and ceiling for markings, but it was clear they were making no progress.

As Overseer 'Oegulee talked to the forward team's Major, Esli watched the infantry stand around, looking dazed. They were clearly overwhelmed by what they were seeing, this deep relic that could signal the end of mortality and the start of the Great Journey.

He walked over and nudged one of the other Inquisitors. "Why is the Army so far down? I thought they were restricted to the uppermost levels."

"Many forward teams at other facilities have fallen silent," replied the other, sounding distant and uninterested. "Our commander was concerned that the humans might have somehow gotten this deep and laid traps or ambushes."

Esli clicked his mandibles and turned away. It was at times like these that he missed Esam, with his quick wit and cleverness, always good for an interesting conversation.

'Oegulee waved at him. "Inquisitor 'Sarodee."

"Yes, Excellency?"

"Begin unlocking this door. We must proceed if we are to locate the source of such high energy."

Esli nodded. Unlocking Forerunner systems was an inherently tricky thing: the ancient computers—though it seemed like such an inadequate word—used circular defense patterns against intrusion, constantly deleted and remade pathways, even became physically dangerous with particularly sensitive data. It was almost as if the Forerunners had deliberately made it difficult for the Sangheili to operate the terminals.

Almost immediately the Inquisitor Minor could tell this was a dangerous terminal. Tell-tale heat washed over his hand as he reached out to initiate the unlocking sequence. He drew back momentarily and dialed his insulation up to maximum strength in his gauntlets. With locks this sophisticated, at best they would be dark and unresponsive; at worst, they pulsed with a stabbing heat.

After finishing his standard infantry curriculum at war college, Esli had joined the Inquisitors and apprenticed under a master locksmith who taught him everything there was to know about Forerunner holographic locks. The young Sangheili had taken to it quickly and earnestly, doing very well in his studies. That aptitude had gotten him chosen for this fleet, and he believed a certain favor with the gods had made sure he was there when it discovered Halo.

He wondered what his master would say about this lock. Several minutes into the process and Esli realized it was the most complicated and powerful system he had ever seen. There was a set of icons that, near as he could tell, should have unlocked the door, but they failed to respond to him at all. It was as if he didn't even exist; they didn't register his ability to stand there and touch them. Instead, he resorted to several workarounds that he had learned and improvised over his years in the Inquisition, but at every step of the way he was bombarded by myriad texts and warnings.

His understanding was too vague to properly grasp anything but the overall urgency. Here and there, though, he saw the symbols of warning Esam had pointed out, as well as one icon he had analyzed while they were still on the surface: a sun surrounded by seven rings with a glyph in the middle. Esli still didn't know what it meant, but the whole thing made him uneasy enough to stop.

The Overseer was quickly at his back, towering over him. "What is the matter?"

"I hesitate to continue, Excellency," Esli muttered. "This lock is the strongest I've ever seen, perhaps the strongest ever encountered by any Inquisitor. What's more, at every step it warns the user of some great cataclysm." He stood up. "See for yourself."

'Oegulee knelt and read, squinting his eyes against exhaustion. A pang of sympathy echoed through Esli for the Major, but when he rose again he was more alert, perhaps even a little afraid.

"Push on," he said in a low, breathless voice. "It would not do to fail the Prophets now."

"Yes, Excellency." Resigned to the nigh-impossible task, Esli worked for another hour before the lock finally disengaged. He stood and sighed, fatigue sweeping over him all over again, both physically and emotionally. Several other Inquisitors growled their approval, some bumping his shoulder in admiration.

As the scouting team prepared to move forward, Esli hung back and took out his Lumidex. He archived and transmitted his steps for deactivating the highly advanced locking system; that way, if any other team happened across such a door, they would be able to unlock it more swiftly. However, he also included a notation about the constant, insistent warnings so no one could be surprised by what lay within... whatever it was.

'Oegulee bumped his shoulder. "Well done. We are moving with the forward team, to help in case there are more locks."

The door had slid open by now, heaving itself aside on slow mechanisms. Beyond was dark and foreboding, and Esli felt a stab of panic at the thought of proceeding. Quickly he squashed it.

"As you command, Excellency," he said.

* * *

><p>The horrible account unfolded before Esam 'Mijumee. Though he could not understand all of it, the Inquisitor understood enough.<p>

Halo was no divine engine. Long ago, the Forerunners had encountered a force so terrifying and omnicidal that they were afraid, so powerful that all their weapons and technology were unable to stem the tide. It was called the Flood. It swept across the galaxy, felling worlds in days, transforming and corrupting everything the Forerunners had built during their galactic reign.

In their desperation, the Forerunners had built Halo, an array of multiple such ring worlds as some kind of last resort. The consequences of using it were catastrophic, and though his translation skills were inadequate for uncovering exactly what these consequences were, Esam understood one thing: it had something to do with why the Forerunners had disappeared.

Panic and dread ate away at him. He felt a profound pain in his soul. The Covenant was built on a lie, or if not a lie then at least a great misinterpretation. Whatever had happened to the Forerunners was indeed related to the Halos, but it had little to do with achieving godhood; that much was certain.

There was no Great Journey. The Covenant was eager to activate a weapon, one that was quite possibly pointed at the galaxy itself.

How far along was the excavation? Esam frantically tried several different commands in his hand-held unit, controlling the terminals of what he suspected was a kind of observation room. Though Halo had been built to stop the Flood, it had also been designed to study this abomination. Deep in the recesses of Halo were samples that survived, locked in storage since the last time the rings had been activated.

He read the scrolling status screens as fast as he could. The Covenant's activities had already woken several subsystems that hadn't been powered in many millennia. He realized with a start that the Inquisitors, his own team even, had nearly breached the final layer of security. If they moved too much further down, unlocked too many more doors, the Flood would be unleashed.

Life itself was at risk.

Esam turned to leave, determined to go back the way he came and stop the excavation. The others needed to see his data, the recordings and notes of what he had found stored safely on his Lumidex.

A hatch opened near the ceiling and something strange floated down. It was orb-shaped and made of a silvery metal with a single blue "eye" on what Esam could only guess was the front.

It took him a moment to recall what it was from the scriptures.

Despite everything, he fell to his knees in reverence. "The holy Oracle."

Sounds, deep and ancient, rumbled forth from it. Was it trying to speak?

"I do not understand, Oracle, but I am not worthy."

_"Brosh'kai ngor vannin onlken?"_

"I don't..."

_"Non te portum est. Non Repostor es. Cur tandem hic veneras?"_

Esam felt overwhelmed. "Oracle, I cannot understand you."

"Local dialect parsed from observed and recorded data," it said. "Greetings! I am 343 Guilty Spark, Monitor of Installation 04." The Oracle bobbed in the air. Esam felt like he was under intense scrutiny. "You should not be here. This area is off-limits to unauthorized personnel, and you are most certainly unauthorized."

"I am Inquisitor Esam 'Mijumee," said the Sangheili, averting his eyes. This was an unexpected turn of events. "I am here on a holy mission of the Covenant, but I fear we have overstepped our—"

The Oracle zipped over his head, intent on the screens behind him. The previously dead terminals warmed and lit at its approach. "Unauthorized access throughout the installation," it said. "You meddlers have made quite a deep intrusion. I am afraid the security and defense systems in this area have become degraded. I should have intervened earlier."

"Oracle," said Esam, rising to his feet, "my brothers are close to awakening the Flood..." He trailed off, mandibles slackening in horror, as one of the screens showed his friend Esli 'Sarodee unlocking the final door. As it slid aside, the terminals screamed in silent alarm. Esam didn't need to see the scrolling iconography to know that the Covenant had just crossed a threshold, gone too far.

"You fools," he muttered, watching as the Inquisition team—_his_ Inquisition team—marched blindly into certain death. "What have you done?"

"Containment has been breached," the Oracle said, sounding rather matter-of-fact. "I will endeavor to control the local outbreak, but reports are coming in from across the installation of similar intrusions." It turned to face Esam. "You have landed advanced starships on the installation in clear violation of protocol. If the outbreak were to spread beyond local space, the consequences would be incalculable."

Esam remembered the _Truth and Reconciliation_, still undergoing repairs. "If the Flood were to escape," he said, "the galaxy would be victim to its scourge once again. What must be done?"

"Sentinel defense systems are offline," said the Oracle. "I must reactivate them and seek a Reclaimer to begin containment protocols."

"How may I help, holy Oracle?"

"Your kind has already interfered enough. I detect a large number of drive signatures in close proximity to the installation. I recommend warning them away, so that the Flood may not leave this installation."

Without another word, the Oracle went back up through the hatch in the ceiling, which shortly resealed itself. Esam was left to stare dumbfounded after it, unsure of what just happened. He shook his head to dispel his uncertainty and turned back to the corridor. If he acted quickly, perhaps all was not lost.

* * *

><p>The ramps became steeper the further Hallowed Unit went into the darkness. They were accompanied by two additional lances of infantry, Elites and a mixture of Grunts and Jackals. Though Oriné did not mind them, 'Ongyomee eyed them with a resentful glare.<p>

"Sub-Commander 'Fulsamee," he called out, waving Oriné closer. "Do you know why the Field Commander dispatched these warriors with us?"

Oriné clicked his mandibles. "I would assume, Excellency, that he is simply concerned for his base. It wouldn't do for us to find an infiltration point of the humans' and he not be instantly aware of it."

'Ongyomee huffed. "You and 'Orgalmee keep your eyes on them."

"You don't trust the Field Commander?"

"Trust does not come easily to those in my position, sub-Commander." His mandibles twisted into a sardonic grin. "You will discover the individual joys of the Prophet Blessed soon enough."

Oriné fell back and communicated silently with Yarna, who in turn fell back even further to better observe the infantry.

The whole thing twisted Oriné's stomachs around each other. He would be shocked at such in-fighting within the Covenant if his personal history had not revealed such internecine conflict to him long ago. He still remembered when he heard of the Judge of the High Council's assassination, how the Hierarchs had rushed to do away with the position entirely and rid the Sangheili of even more political clout.

Politics were outside the young warrior's realm of interest, but it still gave him a chill to think about it.

Eventually they reached a consistently level position, and soon after found their way blocked by a large door. It was a massive obstruction; Oriné doubted whether a dozen Wraith tanks could burn through it in fewer than a hundred years.

'Ongyomee glowered at it. "We must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. Doubtful the Inquisitors would have come this way."

"Perhaps they did, Excellency." Oriné stepped forward and examined the door. Upon closer inspection, the answer presented itself. "Look here, this hologram."

The commander squinted at it. "It is in the Forerunner hieroglyphs. 'Fulsamee, can you read the language of the ancients?"

"Only what I remember from Institution, but this symbol was common enough in the study of Knowledge. It means the door is unlocked, so it must be sealed from the other side, likely by an Inquisitor device."

Rurut the Grunt had wandered up, now standing with the two Elites. "But why would the Inquisitors do that?"

Oriné pressed his mandibles together, thinking hard. The door was emblazoned with many other symbols, but nothing he could recognize. It was possible that the Inquisitor team had found something and felt the need to close the door, either to prevent others from getting in...

Or to keep something from getting out.

Looking at the door, Oriné felt a primal fear building behind his eyes.

'Ongyomee was not so deterred. "Rurut, access the Battle Net and search for the device's signature to unlock it. 'Fulsamee, watch the door. 'Orgalmee, take up rear guard." The team fell into place, the two additional Grunts preparing to cover whichever direction was needed. The infantry took up defensive positions amongst themselves, but seemed unconcerned for the well-being of the Prophet Blessed.

Minutes passed as Rurut worked his way through the Battle Net. At one point he stopped and hesitated, weighing something in his mind before reaching out a trembling claw and initializing the Inquisitor's lockdown device.

Slowly the door opened. Hallowed Unit moved in and checked the area, finding the device in question solidly attached to the door. Upon closer inspection, it was slick with Sangheili blood.

"Tight formation," 'Ongyomee hissed. "Something is not right."

The team moved forward more slowly and cautiously this time. Rurut sidled up to Oriné, still holding the Lumidex that gave him the device's unlock code. "Excellency, I am greatly unnerved."

"It is a mystery," said Oriné in a low voice, "but one with a rational answer. Perhaps there was an accident and one of the Inquisitors was wounded. Maybe it involved a radiation leak and they had to seal off the rest of the base."

Rurut nodded. "Possibly. When I accessed the device, there was a message warning of horrible consequences to come if the door was opened." He became less visibly agitated. "A radiation leak, of course. By now it would have dissipated. The Inquisitors were surely overreacting."

Oriné nodded and waved him on, but he wasn't so sure himself.


End file.
